The Hornet

Dear Sun Goddess living as my neighbor,

Don’t let me, meek and feeble at your size
dictate where you burrow but, 
I promise that hollow was not meant for you. 
your ravenous sonnet vibrates in my teeth, 
lingers like magnets meeting metal. 
I thought the wormwood smoke
would sour your senses but, 
you must have synesthesia.
I heard the birds chatting about your tender larva, 
nonplussed I am at their ability to speak my level of melancholy
at the thought of you getting trapped under my shoe, but
I don’t want you to be hunted. 
Your fury is valiant between these panes of glass, 
sitting like thumb dents on swollen skin. 
I wonder if your sin sits in your wings, beaming 
like the heat off a solar flare. But, 
this threshold must be a shared space
between the twitch in my eye and your casket. 
Just hear me out, maybe you can leave
the florals to the honey bees, the arachnids to the night flies, 
and find solace in the pine tree instead. 

.ham