the window

the dried bodies of hundreds

of black flies lay on the sill

beneath the window pane

where they’d vainly tried

to reach the garden outside,

buzzing weakly until they died.

no one had been in the house

since sometime around the time

when families gathered in front

of the color set on sunday nights

to watch disney and bonanza.

the sunbeam in the dust rising

in the air looked like a ray 

emanating from the hand of god.

through the grime-speckled window,

falling on a broken ladies’ mirror

lying on the floor and sending

a sparkling reflection to dance

each afternoon on the ceiling,

like tinkerbelle touching the castle

with her wand or the fire

burning through the map.