The country night is thick,
with thin sound
and pointed pitch.

Swift shadows crease the dark air,
flicker around the trees,
or like black plums dangle
from the barn beam,
over-ripe and wrinkled.

And all of them
with button eyes that gleam
purblind in the grey light,
and ears with inner sight
producing holograms
within their mind.

All of them
avid for insects,
or fruit

Or blood.