November full moon & flies
(Fall)

The fat slick flies are going crazy,
pulled from corner to corner of the ceiling
by the arc of the full moon.
They follow us through the apartment,
weave and thunck into bulb after bulb, burning up
on their desire.

I only wonder why all of us
aren’t flinging ourselves against walls,
fingering the corners of our dressers, seams in our closets,
tapping our heads against the ceiling,
sniffing the air for something
familiar, moonish.

Watched the moonrise tonight,
driving north through town.
There in the east through trees, above the houses:
coin-round luna naranja, crazy-maker,
tangible as a wheat disc dissolving on the tongue,
foreign as the egret holding
patient for that movement eyed through its own reflection.

For some reason the flies are quiet now,
past their bed time or maybe
they’ve found a crack in the kitchen plaster,
made it out.