They dance in the night sky
Swooping in their elegance,
Their mantles
—of brown fur and leather wings—
Carry them to such heights.
I wish I could follow
I envy their flight!
Their celerity!
Their fleetness!
Their alacrity!
I wish to tear myself from the ground
And fling my body into the night air.
Their chittering gossip
Amongst their clouds;
Thousand little shrieks
Of raucous revelry;
An instinctual opera
That brings me to tears
That was only ever performed for their own ears;
A hymn to some forgotten deity of the night
To help guide them in their flight.
Oh, how I envy them!
The messengers of such sweet night,
A thousand little darlings of sweet Cynthia,
Swaddled in their mousy furs.
Oh, I call to them!
Evening Bird!
Flying Fox!
I beseech them
To please—
Oh, please for the sake of my sanity—
Let me join their flight!
But as I shriek into the night,
Their echoing songs
Turn to cruel cackles,
As I never shall.

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