Soft dark thuds. They do no harm. They excrete dust.
She likes their coming and going at dusk, their velvet noise.
The lonely night they keep her company in the darkest wood
From under the eaves the bats swoop down and
weave in and out of the branches of the tallest tree
where she has lain and waited deep in the roots
Knowing no one will come
But watching the world like the bats do, flying in and out of darkness
Moving nocturnally, roaming the shadows and doing no harm