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Listening to Cicadas
August already: time to see summer
before it sinks. Beneath bountiful branches
I stand and watch the sunlight soak
through green and breathing leaves. All
around, like fog in the trees, alarm clocks
ring beneath male cicada wings. And look:
a current of slick, black ants flows
down the dark drive. Sometimes
I stop to hear the waterfall gushing
from my window fan, and sometimes
I want to pour it all into words,
lingering to love what can’t be kept.
© 2001 by Brian Powers |