My cigarette is now luminous
More than present dusk
Over lightly ripple-kissed Winnebago
Lying quietly beneath
The sordid hum of swarming mosquitoes.
They have no ill-intent, no malice
As I callously project.
Who does not will to live?
To slake a poignant thirst?
– Is more necessity than comfort.
Would that these guileless creatures
Could merit what humility
Of strict dependence;
But men, men are greater for
This profound capacity for virtue.
This once brazen sky
Limpid hangs awash to azure
Darkening, harkening the silent shrill
Of fluttering, wingéd mammals:
Bats, too, will consume their full.