"Oh body, old screen door." ~ Cecilia Woloch

Somewhere in the house, crickets
stridulating. When temperatures fall,
their song slows down or quiets
altogether. If you find them and

can cup them in glass, you can take
them outside so their voices can join
that greater symphony in the dark—

You don't see these bodies hidden
in the interstices, though you feel
their stretch and shape: almost close
enough to touch, to press against.

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