by Collin Kelly
Peeking from the rotting porch steps,
facing the dark screen door.
Sun Glints through the screen door to the kitchen.
A whine of mosquito's swarm through the sprung screen door.
In a burst like a storm the room blooms dark.
A snuffy smell seems to dim overhead and
the blast idles out to the croaking of the frogs.
Back across the creaking floor and out the door and
into the dark eclipsing green of the woods.
And finally the hulled whine of mosquito's wreaths.