mouche noir

mouche noir

A crescent moon rises over half-lit, just-shut apartment buildings and the

air smells like the fourth of July and cherry blossom litter.

I keep the windows open.

The sky’s a gradient in navy, reaching out

with darkening hands in the lamplight. And

through the widowed weeping willow

I can see Venus for the first time in months so

I keep the windows open.

France in the spring, a fresh cool breeze,

a friend’s hand after a long sorrow, flowers in an

open window.

I know now

why they would rather surrender than

scar this earth.

Couples hold hands on the street and I

keep my window open to watch the sky gather darkness

and see the world gather us all into herself but

the flies bite.

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