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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


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

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