Me and dad used to watch bats;
lie on the grass in the gap
between the house and hedge.

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

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

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

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