Flying Foxes

Flying Foxes are hanging high

Folding their lazy legs

Stretching slowly.

Their wings as black rags ,

                           moving in the wind

Folding around

                          a tattering sound

A high pitch screech in the dark

                         echo's back and forth

Sudden shivers

through my veins

Like pins in air bubbles

When the shadows

                         swoop and dive

And the rags

come to life

Pantomimes darkness

against the purple sky

Dimming light

over The Domains

                       golden flakes on wings

traffic noise wins

Botanical Gardens of Sydney

The Garden of Eden limps

Sandstone curves

ocean waves breaking

The gates are closing

While flying Foxes flying high and low

Shadows.

Stretching very slow
                       Cockatoos laughing.

Philo Gregoire