prompt: “when it smells like summer nights and crickets”

“Cricket’s Cacophony”

Our urban soliloquy
remains oblivious
to the symbiotic romances
living within night.

Masses are blinded
by the artificial,
glaring streetlights shroud
these punctured skies

in a hazed purple afterglow.
of smog. Herds of cars migrate deeper
into darkness, though their rumble
distorts that sacred stillness.

Now sleep
is a myth. Silence
an exhausted metaphor.
Yet somewhere beneath silhouetted trees

a midnight air takes me
like a seasoned, vibrant

– billimarie