Children throw pebbles
at the jeweled head
of the peacock and bark back
at the seals. Who

can say what happens
inside each bright life?

Scientists study the brain’s
ancient core in insects:
no, not dark inside, not simple
reflex—it feels like something

to be a bee. Livid with loss,
a hive rears a new queen. Bees,

groggy, hold each others’ legs
as they fall sleep. Bees! They cling
to a car all the way down I-95,
their queen inside.

This poem was originally published in The American Poetry Review.