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? |