October 24th, 2011
Below,
the Earth-pelt
dapples and flows
with slow bees
that spin
the thick, deep jute
of the gold time’s going,
the pollen’s
traceless retreat;
kingfishers
enter their kingdom,
their blue crowns on fire,
and feast on
the still-wealthy world.
Jane Hirshfield, from ‘The November Angel’

(Source: poetryfoundation.org)