cicadas.

[kiwi_maddog2020]

and then the scent of
lighter fluid--
the heat visible above
the grill, and the
train whistle--
the ground skakes even
away from the tracks.

this is summer.
this is not the bleak
bone-shake of branches
or the gusting, toothed wind.

the breeze ruffles leaves
and hair. let the Cicada
wash around you, humming.