Upside down, or so it seems, bats hang.
Dreams cape tree in ruffled dark,
sonar drifting, idle taste of moth in air.
Shy leather fans hold echoes
fur-close, cradle sound of stormy night.

Inside out, or so it seems, mind stabs
evasive moon yet misses heart.
Unspoken torment, wind impounds
for fun. Fortunate that flame
endures long life for moth to fly at all.

Quiet sense of wing, hush, don’t disturb
the night. Thought-fire only ever
rests for dawn to tip cool branch with sun.
Let me watch dark shadows – slide
to kiss then leave your shoulders bare.