SUMMER BREEZE, SHIVERING LEAVES
This: the place cicadas sing,
here by the creek, the steady flow
a lesson: to submit to the sun,
drench everything I touch. Become
a bank where bugs commune. Sunlight
sequins the city, turns the grass
to shimmer. I step into the water,
try to recite my name until it turns
to incantation. Or prayer.
How much of me is wilderness?
How much is cicadasong, breeze?