The sun is up in the tree while long shadows walk before men. At the saree waving tree ,flies emerge from the sun to be flies in the poet’s eye.
The poet , before turning a star, views himself with the flies. The flies are directly descended from the sun . They bother you like thoughts. Some times they accompany your nose all the way back to your home.
Now poets have flies on their pants . Besides, they are practising liberated verse. One day they will be posthumous stars. For now they have flies in the eye.