Death of a bat
Trapped between the winter shutter and the window pane,
surrounded by desiccated, disappointed prey;
Accompanied by its reflection, and dying, dying
curled as a child's darkened hand.
A child's hand curls and darkens around the smallest treasure;
a shell, a leaf, a husk of creature.
Time surrounds the child and makes the same easy dust from terror,
Tripping over sleep and into darkness.
This bitty pelt upon the sill becomes skeletal majuscule.
All the blasted glass in all the world, all this bitter sonic
Reveals no more than what was curled
alone - a hungry, uncomprehending creature - not the carvéd concrete glorious thought
as much as scraps of tunic.
Caleb Cluff
Majorca, Victoria
2/8/06
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