A fly hovers in free space~

the clan in drosophila

the common fruitfly,

a favorite specimen

for the genetician.

Drosophilae breed quickly enough

many generations become observable

before the eager scientists

strike their ancient graves.

This fly settles on my nose

his inexplicable intimacy irks

I am quiet and still as a stone

waiting for him to unfold..

his ageless aeronautical fable.

In a moment of pure revelation

I recognize his infant message

In his miniscule anatomy

the mystery of flying lies concealed

the nature of the diabolic winds

the solemn vertigo of altitudes

the totality of all aerodynamics

perpetual beyond the reach

of any vain mortal conception.

Geneticians may still mutate him

into a crawling worm

for experiments’ sake~

But how he learned to fly

from the innocence of the womb

is a question that completely

transcends all their

audacious tenacity.

The fly does not think and fly

the fly simply flies.

Circa ~ 1983