cricket song constant

mixes, rather drowns

the drone of traffic

save the moving backward

machinery of destruction

so to build



wild and open spaces,

at once free to be

now closed into controlled expression

beauty leveled

for possession


ah but it is we who are possessed

by you, oh mother Earth

and somehow you provide for all

a space,

a grace


like bears in the bed of my childhood

over you roll

and cricket persists in her song

as if she belongs

lying next to engine’s

sleeping drone


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