by December 7, 2011 0 comments

The woods shimmer with sound—
chained murmurs, red echoes.
The cricket chirps, the crow caws,
the nighthawk drums its wings.
Wispy mist swirls from the woods.
The wind shushes.

Inside, the house creaks.
Inside the body, blood courses,
air bellows, the pulse beats.
Only the cricket can hear the segue.
Chirping stops. Silence hums.
A shadow floats.

editors note:

Eternal silence between the beats; entire cricket lifetimes happen in that space. Shhh, do you hear them? – mh

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