Cicada
I emerge gulping daylight
the buttery pat of loam
cocked on my head
a mortar board
tasseled with worms
tepidly applauding my graduation
from seventeen years in isolation
clutching this yellow legal pad
brimming with broad leaves of longhand
trailing creeping marginalia
to accompany your fricative improvisations
scatting the words to our pastoral
dusk ripe and bursting
from the carapace of an August day.
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