ELEGY FOR A HOUSEFLY I find you on my windowsill, Desiccated, mummified, wrapped In mournful dust. Your richly complicated Ruby eyes have shriveled into Horrible dried strawberries. Still, I want to say a little something (not unkind) In memory. I find myself Picking at you with my pencil point. A wing breaks off immediately. I fetch A pair of tweezers from my vanity. I hold the wing up to the sunlight and I see— To my astonishment—stained glass: Truly illuminated manuscripts Telling half-remembered tales. One where You are the brainchild of Beelzebub. And one where God is Love.