Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney


All summer they were there inside the wall.
Lying awake, I'd hear them in the night
making the sort of giant purr that might
come from a tiger, yet was not at all

menacing. Sometimes they would scratch and gnaw
at the thin barrier that kept their nest
and mine apart. The thing that I liked best
was that there were no flies. I listen for

their chittering in autumn and it fades.
Sometimes a straggler will wander through
a window, dopy, stunned, then go home to
yawn into death. The delicate thin blades

of wing that make that vast collective hum
are mostly quiet now, will soon be dumb.
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