The Fly, or Revelation

Eden Wallace

There is a fly, dead in the maple syrup bottle.

The light turns its iridescent body,

forever stilled in violent struggle,

into a glorious ornament—

somber amber warmth,

flashes of green and gold

with brilliant orbs of shining red.

For a moment only, the heavens part.

I am Moses,

standing without shoes on sacred ground

beholding terrible Beauty

and Death,

and I am undone.