Melancholy floods my soul
Sitting on the porch at dusk.
The birds have ceased to chirp
In the dark recesses

Of leafy crowns.
And silence,
Almost,
Slips beneath
The webbed arms of Gray Bats.
Gray Bats dining upon nocturnal,
Unseen, and unnumbered flyers
Who'll never see the light of day,
Again.
Shadowy images traverse the
Lower heavenlies,
Drifting, ever drifting
Above a still and yawning,
Earth.
Like giant,
Giant camera shutters
They slowly allows stars
And planets to peek
Through lenses both small and
Large,
To imprint upon my dozing
And nodding consciousness.
Day, to dusk, to night;
As it should be.
An earthly order,
Ordered from the Heavens,
As it should be...