We all knew
that bats had homes
they abandoned
in the twilight.
In the blue
of the morning,
we used to peer up
into their cradles
to see if they slept.
We must have thought
that bats lived lives
as miniatures
of our own:
Restless,
they left the shelter
of loving corners
for the arcs
of open space
and returned
to fold their hunger,
not yet sated,
into the wings
of the night.
