there is a robin
he is flying,
-red through fine threads of metal
-red through radiated waves
-red from satellite to satellite,
swift, unseen, unheard
the robin flies through oceans, cities, and trees
from continents to continents
the robin flies on inside
bearing news, seasoned by its travels
millimeters and miles
to a cave.
It is black as black is
and cold like a stare from a face
on a glass screen
and the bat lives there,
waiting.
the bat hangs from above
Saliva and sweat dropping
into the black cave water
as he shivers in cold solitude
the bat waits as floating leaves
change from yellow to red and green
the bat hangs awake,
eyes wide as the mouth of the cave,
feet swollen, tightly grasping the ceiling of rock
The robin has come
but the bat will not loosen his grip.
