19 August 2007

Cricket Song

what difference, whether she
wears her hair waist-long or
up around her ears?

her irises still shift, from
grey to blue, the smocked
dress threaded through

with green, the crickets
sing a summer song, a
summer song of april

long since gone, the golden
strands floating, tangled in the
air thick-fogged after

the driving rain has torn
the heat up from the pavement,
thrown it skywards to hang there,

obdurate, a thick soup to
push my limbs through as I
think of you, floating towards

the ceiling, my red balloon,
my joy, my lost light, the
words that greet me in the night

ever, ever, and again the
words drift up to the windowpane.

they leave their marks.
I scratch them down.

1 comment:

Goth_Ecks said...

Thanks for writing this because it reminds me of my vacation on my grandma's hometown when I was kid. I still remember the sounds produced by the crickets. It's too bad I cant here those sounds here in the polluted city.