With Flies, It’s the Wings That Lie

As the dreamer in the corner
Of your window, you realize

You are, like that novelist wrote,
One among the many dead flies.

Good for you. It’s been a short life
Of long hours. So long as there’s time,

There’s so much more among small change
Rotating in and out of doors.

Don’t twitch your leg. Don’t try trembling,
Fly, you’re dead. Don’t you remember?

No, you don’t. It’s okay, wriggle.
You’ve always been as good as dead,

Which is, in turn, the opposite
Of having died. Your wings lie wide.