In the strongest sables of night,
a creature, wings ringed with bullseyes
and specked with aged sepias,
curves a quick path to the flickering,
garish light pouring from the
web-weary, dust-detailed relic
on the far east side of the field.

As the creature is carried through 
a frigid gale, the light wanes,
calling out in a final shuddering
cut of yellow, before dimming
into the surrounding emptiness.

The stranded creature whirls,
seeking its solitary companion of light,
and upon a failed wing-flap realization
of abandonment, stretches its slender
body skyward, in pursuit of the
ever-present solidarity of the
waning crescent, of the ivory moon.