BLACK SCRAPS OF STEALTH

Last spring I spent a couple of days on the Costa Brava and one night I watched bats hunt in the twilight. The beam of a lighthouse catching them in mid flight. I stored the memory away knowing I would one day write a poem about it.

NIGHT HUNTERS

Unexpected the wind is in my ears

louder than my tinnitus ever could be

warm like a low power hand dryer

It must have picked up as night came

we’ve just left the restaurant

are by the squat light house

In the beam black scraps of stealth

strobe in and out of existence

it hurts to chart their orbits

and I question my eyes

all the way to the car

The poem percolated in my head for a long time I could vividly remember the bats but the words would not come. I've been working on this for the last couple of weeks. Watch this space.

Here's an early Elvis Costello song Motel Matches, I love the ambiguity of the lyric. He is a fine songwriter.

Until next time.