Outside, it’s early evening,
the bats lilt through the air
as though they are beautiful.
They are small black doors
into the dark.
voices chorusing woods and fields, ringing
off the stone walls she runs beside, light
and fleet, silent as new snow falling through
Somewhere in some other place their kind are wild, meant for the verdant and exotic, and on the west slopes of the coastal range, near Palos Verdes, where the foothills … Continue reading
Because we have the archer, I always arise about the same time to walk him. He lies patient and silent in his crate as I dress in the big room, … Continue reading