“Out of the depths I cry

to thee, Lord,

hear my voice!”

 

Psalm 130:1

​

In the distance, 

the thunder—but 

the mosquitoes 

are swarming. 

Life implodes. 

 

From out of the shadows 

and swampy solitudes

they ferry and probe 

for warm and tender 

places to draw their blood. 

 

They carry on the wind, 

dance against the moon, 

 

invite themselves into 

our quiet nights and 

cabined conversations. 

 

Vague thoughts

take shape,

​

edited memories, blackened interpretations, selected distorted events.

 

All so real, each leaving 

its mark, the after-sting 

of drifting “could-be’s” 

or “what-was.” 

 

But the thunder rolls 

and soon, sweet rain,

the end of torment. 

 

Still, hordes return,

sun-born legions 

eager and humming, 

in the every day 

and everyday.

 

Each born of feelings, 

internalized heartache, 

discouragement,

lost hope, 

silent despair. 

 

We take back what

we can but days can

be lost.

 

New advances take 

the swarming place. 

 

Beauty turns to restless 

discontent, the eagles 

now mere objects in the sky. 

 

But the thunder rolls 

and soon, sweet rain. 

The earth revived. 

The summer extended. 

The life-force is back.

 

and we can reach  again

to the level of our dreams, 

 

to whisper 

good news 

once more.