i caught a silver wasp, who

cringed when caught: to let it

fly – in starry horizons, gold leaves

beckon. i did not understand how

this dreary earth could hold splendor

told from tiny life beseeching much.

so let it fly i did, and turn around, i flew

to hidden lairs, nesting earth humming low

and languid like: boiling lava spewed forth golden

flames licking the air like trees waving to

the friendless sky. her eyes have been dimmed

from ugly giants trampling on sacred stones,

hearken not; bereft, forlorn, extinguished smoke

carries no weight. and then the water splashes

from revolutionary sea to tepid beach,

the cooling leaves dwindled, retreated with

quiet grace; lonesome giants fell asleep on midnight’s watch

having no more angst to bury another memory

into poignant nerves still flinching from curses made.

later on, in the dreadful night, i heard the call of a

wasp searching for splendid skies, found not

when hollowed earth leaves a vacuum.

sparks, embers, radiant heat burning in

night’s cold caress, and it was then i startled

shook, shivered, opened my weary eyelids

to find placid walls still surrounding, a light grew

dim, found myself clutching tight to starry fields

with flaming tongues, stone giants lay inert from

curses unleashed: i did not cry.

having forgotten what it meant when voidness

stings, much more than dreams fading out.