Who let these many bats loose,
All at once,
To flit over the darkening meadow,
Picking someone here, someone there?
The answer is, no one.Still, think of the terror, the rapture
Of being lifted by a force from on high,
After the glory of the sunset,
Into one of these clouds that loom
Like seaside mansions on the horizon.It's your old-time religion talking,
You said, my love.
It's just potluck for them and for us.
The answer is still, no one.