Bat

The air was cooler tonight.
A sign of autumn approaching.
It felt like she was a girl on a bus,
just a few stops from here,
gathering up her things.

A bag of long shadows,
a purse bursting with her relucant sunrise.

I was filling a glass with water in the kitchen
when it flickered across the window
like a frantically blinking eyelid.

Then on the other side of that glass,
I stood on the grass
as it circled again and again.

A neat bow tie
turning knots of it’s own
in the air above my head.

It could even have been a single bow
from the tail of a shadowy kite.
Or even the kite itself,
flown by an ant – standing at my feet
on the path – tethered to it’s tiny grip
by a silvery strand of spider’s silk.

The Copado Cactus

This morning I walked a winding trail
from this cabin through the woods.
The air was warm,
thick from last night’s rain.

Fallen pine needles softened
on the wet roof tops.
It was so still
not even the crowns of the trees swayed.

The only sounds, the drops of damp
falling through the highest parts
of the spiny canopy.
Though none of them ever seemed

to reach the ground.
It brought to mind
one of those rainmaker musical instruments.
How all those tiny pieces

tumble down through the many levels
one at a time.
And how they also never finish their fall.
There was a surprising absence of life.

No grouse to peck it’s way through the third stanza.
No rabbit to chase an adverb
through the final phrase.

I felt like Noah.
Making his final checks
before casting off,
making sure all were accounted for.

Then turning off all the lights,
locking all the doors,
damping down every fire.