Bat

Leather wings alights his loft,

Belfry undercroft, cornice oft

Leaping post to oceanic night.

Sycamores, swerves its smiting,

Night knights him, friezes him;

Purple cathedral silhouette, dream of canons.

Roost of rooks once corbels called shamans gothic feeling within,

Day’s summit impassive opulence, heighting height hoisting light higher.

Dives then lies flat to branch undersides, descries prey, flies, consumes flies, glides,

Uprides wind, uprights easily, navigable now the once-impossible skyward heath.

Adderbolts will not suffice tonight, Lord’s hunger for more than health’s portion,

Glyphs tracing if paint could track their traffic, traceless; even their bones where?