At the golden center

At the golden center
this chilly dawn, of three
pink dahlia blossoms—

honey bees—stop-motioned
among the thousand
feathered petals.

All night long, their faces
and their bellies pressed
into the pollen. 

Like ants caught in amber
a million years ago,
they shine

as the rising sun begins
to warm them back
to buzzing life.

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