Poets for Science
Global Gallery

Sunfall with Bat House

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Offering itself to the lake rim,

the sun edges into lineations

of live oak and swamp hum,

 

making the water electric

with fading orange yielding

to evening’s blue leisure.

 

They begin in short bursts,

separating over the field

until they flow in solid motion

 

like the red-faced semaphores

of motorists, bottlenecked

and twisting over the garden

 

where we bury their guano,

diving into the verdant ruptures

of bananas and pole beans.

 

They pass over the bench where we sit

backs to the breach of roadway,

and into the vanishing cypress shadow,

 

wings knocking at the locked

doors of our lives, little beacons

now barely visible, moving stealthily

through the gathering night.