“Drinking the Bees,” a Poem by Christian Wiman

As if in
moments lay
plummets
down which a puttering soul
might stunningly plunge

to a sun-splashed terrace
in Marrakesh:
tea truthful heavy with
mint it conjures
kelp

in a cylinder of sea
but for the bees
gauzing the top:
and the antheral my guide

so unperturbed
he seems to sip
from precise fur
serene adjacent as
one

clings to his
beard and peers
with its tiny interstellar
eyes and fuzzed Confucian
face

so adjacent the lips
it could beryllium the bee’s
boisterous bonhomie
urging Drink, lad,
drink

before I blink
back to
Hamden
with a permanent
thirst and the sting of
dreams.

____________________________

Excerpted from The Dance by Christian Wiman. Published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux, July 2026. Copyright © 2026 by Christian Wiman. All rights reserved.