is this your beautiful house?

upstairs, on the pull-out couch,

buzzes working their way through

the ceiling, agents of

the wasp, under may-spring heat

always sightless but fertile.

afternoon changing quilts,

pillows thrown overboard,

i was barely moving.

the deep blue of the day,

cloudless,

untoward.

listening to talking heads,

once in a lifetime,

over

and over again.