May fly
There's a buzzing fly trapped inside the window. I should open it. Outside the rondini squeal and whistle and spiral and I think of joining them. But I'm closer up here on the fourth floor. I open the window. Maybe one will join me. Instead, the fly buzzes some more. It's caught. Behind the curtains, usually drawn, there are cobwebs old and new. With him there's a spider so thin it surely cannot survive its dinner. I close the window. The swifts are bigger than I remember. Perhaps I'm shrinking. "I'll float away like honey in the sun."