Unable to Turn Back

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

 

 

Deep in the drapery of the lily,

a dead bee lies curled in a pool of nectar.

Why did it die in such a sweet sacristy

enshrined in its last memory of golden,

pollen-dusted walls?

 

Perhaps if we ambled down

the tunneled curtains of our longing,

searching for a numinous center,

we wouldn’t notice either

that our every step was beginning

to stumble—dazzled and drunk,

our pockets becoming heavy

with treasures, the amphitheater

narrowing, as we slip away

from ourselves, drowning in sweetness,

unable to turn back.