A man sits on a porch on the last evening of summer and watches a mosquito find him. Bonta follows her step by step: she drifts in, tracks the carbon dioxide of his breath, and lands on his arm. The language is almost that of an airplane landing, with "landing gear extended." Instead of slapping her away, the speaker lets her feed. He calls her "beautiful & blameless" and is happy to share "the beer in my veins."
The mood is quiet, tender and a little reverent. The cry "Lord, I am here" sounds like a prayer, as if being chosen, even by an insect, makes him feel noticed. Then the rain arrives, sweeping across the field and bending the treetops, a bigger event that echoes the small one. The ending is wry. The mosquito has had her one meal and gone, and he is left waiting "for God knows what," with only her itch. That itch suggests that even gentle connection with nature leaves a mark.