Crickets, Vespers

Jennifer Sweeney

beyond the terribly bright and curious tender

we know what little and much the grass knows

gods in charge of holy nothing but to keep

reaching toward allspace

salt meadow      skin of the ghost wave

rising

keep the bandwidth of our chatter slow

everslow the rain falling in its perceived time

there are more ways to listen than weep

slow the cricket nocturne, a human lifespan

hear our voices hymn back

angels in the field

clock clock

what have we come for

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