By GTimothy Gordon
September 2024
Night flyers shocked from trees,
wing-leathery flapping across first fall,
late summer, moon, caught between
earth and ripe blue light, midair vagrants
on the lam, hightailing it somewhere,
but where? bracing themselves in the joyful
all-at-once in-betweenness of everything
known, and not, neither here nor there,
whatever otherworld lay beyond tree
or exquisite blue moonlight, before dreaming
how to live in it.