bats don’t see the schools of
rising insects but do hear
the dinner bell of dusk
then a feeding frenzy of
sharp banks and deadly turns
silent screams of the dying
till twilight and the prey
dive for the cover of earth
and the air settles moonrise
I see the silhouette
of a trailing bat
pick off one more
like a wayward caboose
of a corkscrew train
slicing through the dim light
back to their home
in the depths
of darkness
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