Me and Dad used to watch bats
lying on the grass in the gap
between the house and hedge.

Shards of glass
against the barely black
half light of July night.

Flying in drops and dives
like twisted kites
tossed in stormy skies.

Or sat on the deck
we’d hear, under the gable
the static click

of sonar, like ships;
taut sails, riddled
with mites and ticks.