Crestone Mosquitos

Thousands     hover             and crawl

all over           the sliding door

like alien         invaders

sniffing blood            through glass.

Tomatoes       are growing,

 Kale       and     mixed greens.

I will let them       go to seed,

held hostage              in my home

by mosquitos.

 They               gather                 in shadows

of rich                         foliage.

Armored         in full sleeves

and long pants          in the slow heat

of summer,                 I sweat,           reach in

to gather                    blooms.

I wince            at the whine                         a choir

of                                bloodlust.

I watch           a newborn’s mother

slap his head.                         His first

mosquito bite,            baptized         by a splat

of his own                  new blood.

End of July,    I can    finally

walk my dogs             without

mosquito net,        with bare       arms

and legs                under stars.

The                  stars shine          like the eyes

of mosquitos              endlessly

swarming       the night.


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