Glass cage
by Eva Hays
Wasp, trapped
between panes of glass,
papery wings ricocheting
in the afternoon gold,
small legs pulsing
against the window frame
craving fresh-aired freedom,
backtracking
into cobwebs
inside the house
a phone line disconnects,
shadows deepen in faces
limned with worry and shafted sunlight,
voices rise, beating against silent wood,
combatants steady in stance,
sharp in speech
outside the house
seeds fall from the sky,
golden rain
spinning, spinning
to the ground.