Some say it is the beam of a crescent moon
that awakens them as it paints the placid
surfaces of small pools of water with its
faint luminescence on warm and windless nights.
They are often mistaken for mosquitoes
owing to the high pitched whining of their wings,
the eyesight of most humans insufficient
to see the details of their elfin bodies.
Their bites raise not even the tiniest wheals,
but as the crescent wanes and the full moon swells,
an itch spreads that may only be satisfied
through the thrill of an illicit lover’s touch.

[The poet, author, and gentleman songster, Steven Wittenberg Gordon, MD, resides in Kansas with his wife, children, and a poorly trained Airedale terrier.  He maintains a part-time medical practice, is a member of the Codex Writers’ Group, and is the editor of Songs of Eretz Poetry E-zine.  Visit him at www.eretzsongs.blogspot.com.]