Bat Poem by Matthew Coombe

The air was cooler tonight.
A sign of autumn approaching.
It felt like she was a girl on a bus,
just a few stops from here,
gathering up her things.

A bag of long shadows,
a purse bursting with her relucant sunrise.

I was filling a glass with water in the kitchen
when it flickered across the window
like a frantically blinking eyelid.

Then on the other side of that glass,
I stood on the grass
as it circled again and again.

A neat bow tie
turning knots of it’s own
in the air above my head.

It could even have been a single bow
from the tail of a shadowy kite.
Or even the kite itself,
flown by an ant – standing at my feet
on the path – tethered to it’s tiny grip
by a silvery strand of spider’s silk.