You May Recall

Often late in July but,
always in August,

cicadas sang.

Dogday cicadas lullabyed,
then awakened me,

usually, within the same hour.

Like everything repeated,
their song’s rise and fall,

grows familiar.

When that happens,
you notice them about as often

as you think about breathing.

You brush away a silent skeleton,
realize the song has stopped,

and night is as empty as a cicada’s shell.

Someday, your mind may brush against
a rough, frail memory and you may recall,
I once sang for you.

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