By Andy Mitchell
Through my window
something’s stirring, something’s alive.
A cacophony of cicadas and crickets
mimic the composed frenzy of tuning
just before a concert.
A wild symphony plays in thickets
through my window –
an off-white noise with a half-moon twist.
Something stirs, something lives.
Here and there cymbals
crash, descants leap…out
of the din, ecstatic; fire-
flies patrol low-slung skies,
miniature maestros running the night,