Mad Honey

Mad Honey

Briefly as a person's life they bloom:
golden oriole, pink, orange, red,
their leaves, nectar (honey from the nectar)
toxic as if they held death in their deep color.

I have lived like a bee labors for its drop of liquor—
the loss of warmth, sun precursed by shade—
the cooler evening of my days as the sun hollows.

Azaleas arriving in a black vase means death—
that vibrant colored gift—the antidote.