All the words
Between the lowered sky,
the stumps of time-worn rock
and stunted trees,
bats move like fistfights -
weaving, dipping, circling;
moving in and out amongst their prey.
Closer though: the feel of distant stars,
the grace and rags of loneliness,
a moving and a sudden slowness
giving birth to worlds -
and all the words that will not do
and yet must serve and come to you.