First Fly

When, this morning
I heard the fly on its zigzagging flight
across the plane above my bed,
toward the square of light at the window,
lurched into motion after lingering --
where? --
I remembered the buzz,
how it sawed its way
into my sleep,
a pure finger of reality
into my dream

And I was thinking, though asleep,
it's April,
early for this fly to be here
inciting a vein of irritation to thrum,
melting the pure surface of slumber
to set its spindly legs on my nerves