Frogs call
I wait in the punctuated dark while
lightning bugs tease my imagination

with promises of fairies if I follow
those flashes,

beacons of dreams and damage
anything I can fathom
anything my mind cooks up

pulled from the depths of past
pleasures or past pains.

I sit still
listen
trills and eeks and

banjo string plucks of green frogs
echo, and nothing

I envision while entranced by bugs
daring me to step into the woods or
while hypnotized by longing amphibians

is darker than when I head inside and
open my phone.