a wrong turn

I remember the bat
that flew
into the house. a small
clump
of hair
and claws, mouse
sized, brown
black.
the zip of it's canvas
wings
spread
veined and thin,
frenetically flapping
from room
to lighted room
seeking
the shallow cool
of darkness.
I remember sweeping
it from
the low
sky he was trapped
in,
the stark whiteness
of walls
and ceiling,
moving him
towards the open door
until finally
he was
no more.