Ichneumon Wasp

Le rouge et le noir—
legs, feelers, military;
the abdomen, clerical.
Wings, diaphanous amber,
tipped with a small pupil.
It breaks the cobwebs
round the lamp, assaults
the globe without injury,
its buzz the muffled sound
of a blowfly underwater.
When not dauntless,
narcissistic: legs stroke
legs, sharpen sting,
with lingering intent.
Antennae quiver and point—
dowsing rods or batons
dictating the next move.
With sword-tail, bullet body,
it's innocuous to humans,
that hardly troubling
drone a sermon to be
slept through. I open
one door, then another.
As if drawn inside a vacuum,
the wasp floats towards the day.