on time

a fly whispers in my ear
half-waking, I flap, it goes
back into the dark
midsummer, full cloud cover
thick night, air heavy
head a dead-weight
drowsy, or dying
it's impossible to ascertain
why my eyes can't open
too easy to close
too easy to sink
below the surface of consciousness


the fly returns
picking its way around my face
in my ear again
again I flap a sleep-weary hand
the fly lifts off
goes back into the dark
cruising the room
it establishes a sharp-angled holding pattern
waiting for breath to slow
for clearance to land
sleep or death?
death or sleep?

~

CLP 20/06/2023