The Fly

I prefer my quicker shutter
When lumbering around downtown
Up town, and out of town

These nouns all move
So fast
So fancy, in the vast

I can be about
Without being found out
With my quicker shutter

The Vast

 Each day at dawn

May I pour your tea

With increasingly steady hand

Deliver it to you

Standing

There

If I reach up

With fingertip brush the silvery dust of your crown

To my temple

Smooth

Then

Will you bid me back tomorrow