lucky flies

sopping, I glisten
sun pooling around my fingers.
the pond is swampy,
filled with birds
and linen-white moths.

I once ran with a friend who couldn’t stand
being circled by flies.
There was nothing we could do
to stop them,
she insisted we swat
and hollered;
This isn’t even enjoyable
any more!

You can outrun them, or
if you sit
still, they’ll leave
uninterested.
They, like us, have only two eyes
though compounded.

That’s how I must look
nestled between skinny trees-
unseemly and
compounded.

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