The tulips the
bee that his colors blaze out for;
The bee is the honey he flies to the hive;
The honeys the sweetness that seeps in its matrix;
The sweetness is sunlight that keeps all alive;
Sunlight is life of which poets sing
As they empty themselves of themselves
To be filled with the tulip, the honey... the thing
And try to make sense of their lives.
Tulip qua tulip is empty of being,
Empty of meaning and emptiness too,
But tulip-and-bee is an animus mundi,
And honey-and-sweetness-and-sunlight... and-you.