Took Over by the Wind


The clock stuck eight from an end,
A long-narrow passage with me at other,
Stood; slightly bent; fingers intertwined.

It's being dark, my vision, the lawn,
But I do admire, not the scenery
The buzz of one out of three.

Cicadas or cricket and katydids
As I knew, it was them, humming
Undone the silence; never prevailing.

The sounds, dripped, deep, myself in,
Hands crossed, a chill went down the spine.
Pale, it became;
Never stood for next awhile, then...

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