Bill Moll sent me his bat poem.

The poem uses the first letters of the term echolocation.


Every evening
Caves come alive and
Hunters alight
On New Mexican deserts.
Lone riders of the night skies are
Off to nocturnal feasts.
Caverns spew their winged lava
Across the darkening deserts.
Teeming leathery warriors
In flight over arid seas.
Onward legions of the twilight
Night-borne pilots of sandy, moonlit shores.