An Esthetic Rule for Life
A wasp just landed on my hand. It moved
About a while and flew away. A breeze
So tiny I could barely feel it proved
The threat was gone. My feeling of unease
Was just as short as those antennae. It
Was perfect as a killing thing.
That black and orange announced it was a kit
For slaughter with a shiny poison sting.
But it was gone. It left behind that wind,
That little wind of pure relief of pain
Avoided. I felt myself chagrined
For fearing it, in fact a strong disdain
For noticing the risk. I should have aimed
My eyes at beauty, keeping panic tamed.