BATTLES IN THE NIGHT

  by Leslie Clark

The tick, tick of tiny insects
trapped between screen and night-closed window,
a minute struggle of almost unseen things.
Bits of translucent wings, fine moth powder
litter the sills in the morning
remnants of an unwitnessed war.

I put the house to bed
each night, make the rounds,
lights extinguished,
cats curled up in accustomed places.
Finally, I fight to dislodge praying mantis,
moths, unidentified desert flyers
from their frantic hold on window screens.

Lured there by our lamps,
radar confused, false day invading
dark promise of the night
insects gather, cling, fling themselves
against the fine-meshed metal.
I pluck and bash against the screen
to no avail, they will not leave.
The closing of the casements
becomes the lowering of coffin lids.

I drift to the darkened bedroom,
prepare to face my own night 
battling in dreams, while in other rooms
the futility of window warfare 
engages.