On the mouth of an exposed hill
That shows its teeth as it laughs
Of ivory, is the apiary,
Like a herd that grazes in the shade
Of bisons that have been glimpsed in the valley,
Behind the trees, that seem to have
Happy faces and their disposition is
Certain, known, unjudgeable. 

The country cathedral is there
In the tide and in the dead calm
With the gentle but powerful force
Of friendly wood, trusted skyscraper
Oblivious to the lashing wind
And the crystals of ice. 

Beehive, quiet dwelling,
Mild natured beings inhabit your house,
Quiet beehive set between
Earth and sky, linked by lianas
Plaited with the breezes of the sun,
If you could speak you would say
Nothing, but you would show that you possess
Holiness, breath and purpose,
And your hair is blond like wheat,
It is fuzzy, wavy and white-hot
Like the skin of an apricot.  




They tell fables with their transparent
Wings and true stories about shepherds,
About mines of course of gold,
Of active therapeutic agents,
Of fascinating mysteries and usages,
Of amazing journeys of love
Like forms closed in on themselves and ancient,
Work of the divine pastoral god,
Extrapolated from the cavern of the winds
And given to illuminate thought.


They say that the queen bee
Is a great lady, good and very beautiful,
Who carries the crown of justice
And a gown of slender threads of grace

To govern her house well

And that the hive is an industrious city
Built with the hand of knowledge
To open another horizon for the world
And to complete its creation.




Translation courtesy of Marion Apley Porreca