I don't know what kind of flying bug
What name it goes by not a fly
Greenish and in constant motion
But every morning now as the days
Fill with more and more light
It comes back to hover and dart
About as if feeding on something
Catching bits of sunlight a few feet
In front of where I'm sitting
And then another of its kind
Comes to join it and they roll
In the air coupling and uncoupling
Desire woven with suffering
In even the smallest things
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