some days I feel
as beautiful and monstrous
as the cicadas

singing songs
the source of which
we do not know

in treetops
stretching the high wires
of August desire

to a taut unmistakable pitch
spinning the hollow of the day
to tapestry

a small orchestra
pilgriming from above
the green-gold
of the chestnut
and catalpa trees


our weary exoskeletons
of another day

spelling the scenery of ducks and geese
chaos of children in the wading pool
as you pass by on your walking way

stitching the gold
silhouettes of humid pines
to the falling skies
reflected in the darkness
of our summer eyes


Photo Courtesy of Pixabay 

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