The Flint

Based on the timeframe involved
I can safely say I stand on a manmade bridge
Over the Flint River,
The reversed-coloured glow of my smartphone
Blinding me,
Attracting tiny insects that land on the screen,
Squashed by my typing forefinger,
Flying up my nose,
An unseen large insect flying into my leg,
Making me stomp and dance in the dark
Under a half moon and familiar constellations.

I am in love with nature,
My eternal friend
Who talks to me
With insect wings and frog throats,
Distant internal combustion engines
And river water smoothing out rocks.


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