JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

We fly in dreams
and urge to roam
waken on tepid nights
when Christmas beetles
crawl, Cicadas sing
and vagrant bats
vanish and re-appear
between the shadows
of the mulberry leaves
and the diminishing eaves
of crouching rooftops

We soar into the
crescent moon
pale as a sleeping brook
draw lines of spangles
over empty highways
spread wings over continents
span silver wishes, drink time
like a white river
rushing to dawns end

 

How thin the membrane
that cuts thoughts
into what men think exists
and what bats sense
on their screens
a shimmering world of sound
and the ache to roam
oh the ache to roam
through the silken web
that ties the sky to the ground

 

And plunge helter-skelter
into a well of silence
like a black hole of knowing
roaming the byways
of a bat’s imagination
the most exquisite
freedom there is