The Water Bat

Headlights flare, dying out on the waters of the lake;

Its surface, a dark reflection of the sky.

I check my old-gold-watch.

It ticks, but does not move.

The witching hour has come.

He whispers, calling for me.

Bats, beautiful holes of winged darkness, soar across the moon.

I would fly with them,

Save for the call of the Earth on my limbs.

The gravel shifts beneath my leather padded feet.

He stops and looks at me.

A shadowed, soarer-of-the-night flaps by,

Moving off towards the dark-spine-wood of the trees.

My watch starts once more,

Leaving me to drown in the ice-blue-ocean of his eyes.

3 thoughts on “The Water Bat

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