Cricket Song

Humid evening
Disease Circulating,
Off away in presence of a fawn
Safely stumbling towards an old apple tree
Position staggered and turned twisted
Revealing only a two dimensional outline,
Swirled fingers past eye sight
Just far enough to remain unnoticed
Animating tree branches
Took flowers assumed,
Carved puppets from flesh and chlorophyll,
Braided hair attached at knuckle,
Fell to compost
A cardinal feeding it’s mate,
A mother building her nest,
Shaving legs to feel closer
An electric razor sat on glass
Quiet to be passed off
As a rabbit running to cedar underbrush,
Took sips breathing
Fresh squeezed pure and elegant
The air endemic,
A virus spreading
Bug bitten
Shedding skin
And hair
And all the things that hold people together,
Cut loose,
Fear tonight
No more
Timid freshly born,
The apples are ripe and within reach


Author: Montana Svoboda

I'm a genderless poet currently living in Central Michigan where I attend college for Environmental Science and English. Nature's some cool shit, frisbee's a neat activity, fountain pens are best pens, Latakia for life, coffee and tea keep these gears turning.

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