I started with the form, but kinda blew off.
On one almost-still day in June, I was waiting
for nothing or nothing in particular
and I noticed a blade of grass
falling from the treblemost wind chime tube.
The previous owners had used the eye bolt
for hanging a basket of Boston ferns,
but we moved in with brown thumbs,
a chime of six steel tubes, and a short ladder.
The unhurried breeze spiraled black buzzards
over the county, lazily ornamental,
and stirred the chime to softly ring.
A wasp crawled from the top of the tube.
She was slender as anyone seen in Vogue,
but seemed less predatory,
almost befuddled. Endearingly so.
A grass- carrying wasp.
I watched. She flew and returned. Several times.
Each return, with a blade of grass.
She hauled her raw material into the tube,
and it fell. Drifted to its twins on the step.
Less ambitious mothers-to-be made do
with tight storm window channels,
packing every narrow space with grass,
insects, and solitary eggs.
She continued to try each polished tube
as if it were a reed or pinky-thin cane.
Around, around she went.The grass dropped
and dried, and eventually blew away.