The Solitude of the Loris   Unseen in the unmoving trees, I smell their fear, all those skittering little creatures down there, darting hole to hole. I see them press their luck, and lose. I hear them tell the end of their stories in squeals and shrieks and then they die. Meanwhile my goggle-eyed attention is complete, serene — I hide in stillness, glory in my slow, meticulous unfolding. Why would you disturb my unnerving silence? Why risk my bite — so foul, so unforgettable? The night is fatal to impatience. Unperturbed and unhurried, I’m secure in the dark. Don’t vex yourself — why not just leave me alone?     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont January 2015