my testament

is this
said the master
of the bees

that when the moon
has several rings
beware
the daemons of the frost

grip tight
the fastenings
of your coat
against a wind that roams
to the west-nor-west

blistering islands
with the scour of salt

thus runs
the wisdom gathered
in the hive
and from the stream
that suckled
on wet snow

for this
we are beholden
to the stars

for this
we breathe
fuck
timely die