The Wasp

The wasp on my window,
Knowing the sky is there,
Though seen, not experienced.
Small sharp stabs of flight.
He could settle for this,
Call this reality, climbing
Up and down the pane,
A two dimensional life.
Near the top, a two inch bar
Of PVC between him
And the great wide open spaces
of the world. “Keep going”,
I whisper. A moments hesitation,
The option of risk then taken,
To leave his 2-D world, traveling
Over a PVC no-mans-land,
Then out — to freedom.

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