With Maeterlinck's Great Book
by Thomas Lux

The Life of the Bee, I beheaded a bee
staggering on the glass
patio door as I opened it
to read above book
on above patio. The bee sluggish, first cold
coming on. I angled and aimed
the book's spine
to detach its head,
and did so. I had fifty or so more pages
to read. I was indifferent
to irony's blue acid bath: I don't get lost in
one hundred year old books
about bees every day.
All I felt
was a desire to shake the hand of Maurice Maeterlinck,
who loved these creatures
and showed it so
in the choice and order of his words.