This wasp catcher hangs from
the fig tree's middle brow
a reflection of black and white
and gray irony, swinging just
enough to show that the wind
blows over zero. Some of the branches
do not care about gravity, and I
wonder, does this fig tree too
require wasps to die inside?
It's a window of an afternoon.
The dog feels it, curling into
his eponymous sunny hindquarters.
Would the hind-half include
the whole ribcage? The fig tree
knows. It's buds are proof
that winter smiles.
When teeth blossom,
prepare the aisles.
Roman Ryan 