Peepers glory in magnolias,
tiny hearts race beneath slicked skin
green as spring itself.
Piccolo trill – throats swell
with incantation, sing down the rain.
Moon’s silver disc comes, goes,
in the inverted dome of heaven.
Swaddled in indigo, my senses fill:
honeysuckle sweetness on my tongue,
velvet air against my skin.
And I refuse to slap the mosquito
who whines at my ear before biting
for I am in tune with nature.
You shake the flashlight
as it dims incrementally. Stumble.
Curse. Focus only on destination.