That One Last Cricket in the Dark

Stops rasping, the courtyard
The quietest it’s been
In months, not a single

Night delivery truck
Grunting in predawn dark,
No wind through the canyon.

This lull, this pause, the moon
And all the misleading
Local planets off scene,

Just darkness but for stars,
One faint lamp down the street,
And a stray awareness

Thinking to itself, well,
This will be another
Day for historians.