- Steve Gold
- Jul 24
- 1 min read

A dear friend and spiritual sister sent me this poem for my birthday this year. (She is not the poet. The poet is an Oregon poet laureate.) It is one of the loveliest presents I have ever received.
A Sacrament
Become that high priest,
the bee. Drone your way
from one fragrant
temple to another, nosing
into each altar. Drink
what’s divine –
and while you’re there,
let some of the sacred
cling to your limbs.
Wherever you go
leave a small trail
Of its golden crumbs.
In your wake
the world unfolds
its rapture, the fruit
of its blooming.
Rooms in your house
fill with that sweetness
your body both
makes and eats.
--Paulann Petersen

