Cicadas whir their wings among dark branches
and the wind prances along the lonely street
Insect noise like hollow bells
from deep within the tangle of green vine
cresting over the garden wall
street light yellow with dust
filtering through the night —
it only makes the dark places darker.
I am lonely but not lonely
sheltered in the tranquility
that is underneath buzzing, swarming, rushing
whispering dancing madness
but I’m okay.
I just need the right words.
The right words to open this dim sky
and call forth the starlight,
to show you that I was here all along
echoing your footsteps for fear you’d walk too far
hiding in your shadow for fear you’d see the distortion of my own
— for fear you’d already forgotten me.
The evening storm left enough debris
to cloak the sound of my feet,
left soft fruits
split upon the wayside in the gutter
and my heart threatening to do the same
all the way to the crossroads.
You have no hesitation about which way to go.
The wind itself guides you
straightens your back
lengthens your stride
and your footsteps disappear into the sound of oncoming rain
a gentle touch
and a cool hand holding me back.
Why is my heart always so full of things you must know
but no words for me to convey them?