A white-bellied carp breaks the water’s
surface, crickets chirp a background chorus.
Bats fly a crazy trajectory, then
fold like origami, cling to the eaves.
A great horned owl swoops, glides
above an old man who fills mason jars
with what he calls sacred mud of the healing lake.
In the lobby of faded sun, I pass row after row
of pinned butterflies under glass.
Memento Mori of old hotel, long-gone guests;
of Anise Swallowtail
Days of green and summer’s
sulphurous heat that bursts cocoons.
Fragile speckled wings that someone felt
the need to pin down.
You’re awake as a child until they teach you
the names of things.
Sandy, I love this! I will always remember our crazy writer’s retreat at Zaca Lake. . .chasing bats through the living room of the cabin. . .and hanging out with a handful of amazing writers. Beautiful times. C
Such a great pause of spring flowing into summer. Beautiful!
Thank you for stopping in, Jane. We hope to share more poetry in future posts.
This is a beautiful poem. Thank you.
Audrey, you are so welcome! We are proud to share our salon with this talented writer.
this made me happy and the ending is so beautiful.
Thank you very much. Sandy has a beautiful voice.
A high five and a haiku for you…
Bats winging above
Eating mosquitoes in flight
Clinging to the eaves
Compliments of Humorous Interludes
© 2013 Ronald J. Yarosh
Thank you for sharing. Bats are so strange, so poetic!
So necessary as well.