Cicada Chorus

Summer. Avenues fill 
      with ragas plucked across 
the washboard of their abdomens,

      sustained vibration 
multiplied by tymbals. They come
      from wintering inside the ground, 

trailing these labyrinths
      of low sound. Bulbs of grief 
grow long-stalked then break

      upon the first stony edge.
The husk: tearable as paper
      though it kept you for years.

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