The bat

A kite flown by night-gods,
brittle sticks and parchment,
a fox-eared scrap of skin
whose panic compressed
the cavernous room to the size
of two hands and the flutter
of a heartbeat with teeth exposed
and a scream that I could see

but not hear, a scream
that broke through the doorway
out from under the eaves and tendrils
of snail-vine to the sky and stars
and the sound of the river in moonlight.

published in
The Summer King