The Cicada

The pink stain bleeds across the sky
Where the spinning stars will wink,
One by one, into life
When the sun falls below the tree line.
The silhouette of the leaves and limbs,
Gently tugged by unruly winds,
Wave to me.
And I am careful to look away.
I am careful to stare, silent,
Into my glass and toast only in my mind,
Lest I shattered this hovering tension,
And hasten the sun’s departing.

The street lamps bloom, and
The smell of dinners and happy families,
And quiet mid-week lives drift to me.
And in the twilight the cicada drones
His instrumental hail to the rising moon.

I sink into my chair, one hand in the dog’s coat,
And let the time roll on,
Let the sun go,
And hum to the sound of that lone player.

 

Danielle K Day

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