Crickets on the patio (a poem)

Thursday, September 25, 2025

Crickets on the patio,
the etch of a tight chorus,
kee kee kee kee kee,
the collapse of a rocker,
audio phenomena baptizing the entire space,
every corner alive with little singing.

All the littles sing,
the chirp, the cadence,
and what do they hear?

Are they all deaf,
this sea of noise
from a thousand clickers,
the wild loop,
the clack of it,
a pulse that will not end.

Crickets on the patio,
in the peripheral,
we are inside insect central,
walls trembling with friction,
air split open by their chant.

How much energy
does this volume require?
Every molecule caught in the crossfire,
every vein of the night lit up
with invisible current.

Animal meter,
the hum of eco and bio and physical,
the clapping over of life cranks,
the rhythm,
the revolutions we cycle,
echoing off the hills,
an echo inside the echo,
a wheel inside the wheel.

Crickets on the patio,
close to home,
in the light,
their song bleeding across
the artificial beam.

And under that beam,
all I can hear is the overlap
of a million screeching violins,
all in sync,
all in measure,
a choir of tension
pulling every string taut.

The cadence,
the ebb,
the blood flowing,
the energy burning,
the clock ticking,
time itself caught
inside their endless refrain.