I am used to the shrill and screech of fruit-
devouring greed, as flying-foxes swoop
on mango trees, maraud suburban orchards,
but this gentle register they use of late
bewilders me, these otherworldly cries of lovers
coupling in midnight gardens, cloud-ceilinged,
adorned with strands of rainbeads; shivering
with ecstasy in yellowed rags of mulberry leaves
as hook-winged, demon-featured cherubim
keep flying in, with little incoherent moans
and mewings such as dreamers make, leaving
the astral paradise reluctantly, while all
the tender pathways of the night vibrate
with secret journeys...
Equinox with Flying-Foxes
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104022400864
Свидетельство о публикации №104022400864
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