Funeral of Flies, Sam Roberts

Funeral of flies

on their backs by the window

they all died, trying

Two blackbirds, one song

raindrops beading on feathers

yellow beak mourning

Rowing out to sea

a trail of fading ripples

smoke ring of the soul

Crows gather at dawn

black shapes haunt the crossbeams

a fire means goodbye

Moon above rooftops

remind us how Earth will look

in the aftertimes

Lightning-struck oak tree

a monument to itself

you will outlive us

Work in the morning

on our chairs by Windows 10

a fly drowns in tea

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Sam Roberts is self-taught. He believes that writing is a war against death.