A wasp crawls up the window
toward what it thinks is sky

then loses its grip, slips and falls
to the sill, lies still, then

gathers itself, turns, and climbs
toward sky again.

Now I hear Black Elk whisper,
Please do not say “it”

when referring to Wasp, who is
a living being made by the Creator.

Wasp, he says, has a name,
just as you have a name—his is Wasp.

I get up from my desk,
hold a piece of paper on the glass

so Wasp can crawl on it.
I take Wasp outside,

give the paper a shake and watch Wasp fly
off and up toward his sky.

Bird watches from a tree.