The Great Feast

On the alpine edge of a once inland sea

dried up for five hundred millennia,

humans prayed to personified gods

for a late frost or lucky fluke to stem

the impending mosquito pestilence.

Located by countless echoes

of winter hunger and March longing,

the God of Bats vibrated with love

and spite, spread both dark wings,

unleashed the great feast.

A cloud of blessing ascends from low

shadows. Drop your shovel. Hear it ring.

Run, flail, gnash teeth. Slap the sting.

Witness your garden grow and bats dive

from behind a whining screen.