Flapping and turning like a kite that lost its stream
jerking in circles
A bat!
If we could have enormous fruit bats here.
If the moonlight and the street flares flashed brown into silver.
No, keep watching.
A bird.
An enormous package of a bird.
Its face a fat dowel-end
cut off mid turn
spinning in widening, falling courses.
Free from the vice, a panic.
White number 5.
Rare for me to meet you wild.
1,2,3 in the tree in Bharatpur,
snuggled pygmies holding court.
4 here in Berkeley, light-time insomniac,
orange tape announced your wilting chicks.
Now 5, tumbling over the marina.
On the hill humans are lined up like trees.
Strange bird in painful flight
I don't know how it will go for you.
The hills are lined with people
assembled like a strike.
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