stepping out the back porch into cobblestone-embedded patches,

i match the hums of jays cascading towards the pines and ebbing.

crimson light pursues my winded eyes with evening grace,

embracing the lulls of the balmy yard–a draft one swims in.

 

far above curved shingles, the bats trace a sailor’s sky–

high, 6 meters above, sparring each other in looping arcs.

they circle above my head, occasionally seizing the pests:
digesting their discards to maintain restless sways.

 

yet on the most barren evenings, a few stray from the umber cloud and they

 

           swoop–sweeping under the horizon to

 

                                                                                      carve–carrying their silhouettes on a

 

                  scythe–scanning still spaces to

 

                                                                  lash–latching their leather wings in a 

 

                 strike–streaking gashes through an

 

                                              ambush–aching my sight.

 

                      (echolocation no longer traces the space i carry)