Whence

All summer long I have watched

The paper wasps build their nest.

Tucked in the corner above the

Patio light, their solitary holdfast

Sprouted cell upon cell, deepening

With the days to hatch and host

Their young, bustling day and night

With the chores of care and feeding

And the ceaseless buzz of that

Indefatigable construction crew.

To what end this expense?

Fall’s first hard freeze caked

Yesterday’s earth with an icing crust;

The nest today is still as a tomb—

No arriving, no departing, no mouths

To feed, no walls to build, just

Empty cones and quiet rooms that

Have only to return to the nothing

From whence they came, a house

No longer home, its open doors

A portent, its windows waiting

Only for the wind to crack.

10/18/2024