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Quite near but not quite to
the white tile balcony,
at dusk there soared or flit
an acrobatic troupe
of house bats out for joy
of moths and flies and thrill
of shade and grayish green
with dabs of black beneath
the slapdash pergola.
They did not flitter past
the balcony’s sad cast-
iron rattling rail
while in this ecstasy.
But was this escapade
a matter merely spurred
by hunger’s high-pitched squeal
or were more ancient norms
at work among them there,
these lines that ricocheted
between mosquito clouds
and brushed by concrete walls?
Just why this weft across
the warp of evening drafts,
this weave of russet grays?

Photo by Clément Falize on Unsplash

Greg Huteson

Greg Huteson's poems have recently appeared in THINK, The Honest Ulsterman, Macqueen's Quinterly, The Literary Bohemian, and the Alabama Literary Review, among other publications, and his chapbook, These Unblessed Days, will be published by Kelsay Books in fall 2022. He lives in Taiwan.