by David Citino
I walk out into dark that feels
sacred, even though it’s Ohio,
it’s now. Orion strides above,
shattered ice strewn across
the vast black, a hint of azure.
The year’s last crickets
are singing their hearts out,
slower than yesterday.
They know the north wind
is serious about staying.
Shivers in the trees, a stirring
of birds. The crickets chant
their names until my presence
quiets them. I hear the silence
of eternity. They’ll sing again
only when I’ve gone home.
