The Fallen

The dry wing of a fallen fly

Lay on checkered tiles,

Evidence it was alive

And airborne, swerving high spirals.

 

Wilted,

The wing is swept

Like collected dust, instead

Of a funeral, kept

 

In a garbage can.

Disintegrating life

Will catch my hand,

Falling against the night.

Reviews

[Queen of Hearts]

Very descriptive and realistic.