The crickets croon
their natural chorus
& though they must be
in the agony
of relentless desire
like so many now,
their soliciting
wing song
is strangely calming.
The trees
are like embracing figures
in a negative
who can’t be made out.
A bird singing
from one
of their shoulders,
is probably
also desperate
for a mate.
A Chevy of lovers
passes with purpose
& hangs a right
down to the lake.
As if they’re home,
they hit the lights.
I am at home
now too
as I take in
the sexual night.