walking and talking
into the wind and a cell phone
alone, on this night in Santa Fe
there, in the corner of buildings butted up against
each other, is the bat, the small little bat,
a creature seeking heat against
the cold – alone
folded about himself
I am seeking the same from you
sonar perfected, reaching
across wide spaces
only dreamed of by these
who huddle close
together
This article appears in 44.