it was strange.
The moon was supposed to be awake,
but the crickets were yelling and throwing things.
When you ride or run down this avenue, shadows follow.
I always said to bring matches.
The seconds tick and the moon bids you hello
at the proper time for once.
But the crickets won't stop and you fear them to jump in your ears and overtake your brain.
So stepping down the sidewalk becomes delicate business, and no one's watching,
in case you fall and break the road.
Still, at this hour, you will risk the abyss
opening under you; and you tiptoe faster.
She's a crescent now, but graciously still gifting light.
She gives so much.
The insects now ride on my shoes and my shoulders.
They're afraid too.
The dirt road throws pebbles at my head,
and ducking makes running difficult.
It's dark, and it's late,
and now the crickets have been replaced by moths, the useless things.
All flutter, no flight.
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