The Rising Seas of Chorus

I have to say, during this heat wave,

The crickets have been super loud,

He said, neighborly nod of the head.

No disagreement there, which is

Exactly what makes small talk neighborly.

Pick a topic true in all ears and affirm it.

The crickets have been pulsing like strings

In the Devil’s orchestra, like cicadas,

Like building the night depended on them,

Which it does, in a way, in late summer.

But it’s the heat wave, the long, dry days,

Not so much approaching autumn

That consumes them. They pulse more

Or less as the air warms or cools, as

The lizards hide in shade or run in sun.

It’s not that life grows frantic near the end.

It usually slows. Desire rarely lures you.

It heats up and chases you from behind.