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The Hive


ISSUE:  Winter 2013

Waiting in a lofty hotel lobby
honeycombed with entrances and exits,
feeling weak, I find a corner, lean
against a wall (can it be alabaster?)
whose coolness seeps into my shoulders. You
finally appear and hurry past
on your way to where a black car waits.
I summon all my strength—my voice is strangled—
to say before you’re wholly out of sight
and earshot that I … yes. Am I too late?
You smile; are gone. The lobby like a hive,
its stream of transients buzzing in and out,
empty and crowded both … Once more alone,
I lean against the cold and lambent stone.

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