Bees and a honeycornb in the dried head
  of a horse in a pasture corner -- a skull
  in the tall grass and a buzz and a buzz
  of the yellow honey-hunters. 

And I ask no better [a] winding sheet
  (over the earth and under the sun). 

Let the bees go honey-hunting with yellow
  blur of wings in the dome of my head, 
  in the rumbling, singing arch of my skull. 

Let there be wings and yellow dust and the
  drone of dreams of honey -- who loses
  and remembers? -- who keeps and
  forgets? 

In a blue sheen of moon over the bones
  and under the hanging honey comb 
  the bees come home and the bees sleep.