[after a sunset]
A cloud moved, the tail of it could not keep up. Faintly
pressing into sky slowly, like creeping Spring
and the crumbling of time between two fingers.
I saw a falling shade of blue, a Sycamore, and two
bats feeding on a shifting plague. They circled about without tiring and without pause, while nearby
birds sat silent until morning for their song to call the sun to rise.
The sky, now violet shining, offers less until sudden silhouette
of fluttering bats erupting from trees. Gravity, with its hand on my shoulder
reminds me that I am in need of rest.
