Sept. 5, 7:26 P.M.

The light is almost empty while
the sky is filling up with bats,
and drained of all its color by a sun
sinking gold and amber behind pines.
The cat's posed on the pedestal table
contemplating her memory
of birds. Could it be the music
that comes mosquitoing through
window screens? Nothing left
to be done, or wished or
spoken, nothing I can think of,
and the daylight almost
empty.