There was a blue bottle fly in the apartment today
Which would not be strange
Except that it was January
And we have not seen a fly for months
A small black reminder of sleepy summers
Of long golden days where we sneeze because of the goldenrod
But we would rather sneeze than have its gilt glory gone

In what shelter has this little, unforeseen creature found repose?
In what bathroom or kitchen did it find its own small nativity?
Surely it will be dead before its season begins and yet I shall not harm it.
I could not harm such a reminder of the lingering days (still so far away)

And I will let its buzz be more of a song than I have heard for hours on end
It seemed to harmonize with the songs we sang this morning in church
Perhaps some tiny organ pipes within its fragile, many-eyed body
And the drone became a hymn of praise and memory