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Crickets and Other Presences

By Paul O. Williams / January 20, 1994



Taking out the garbage I pause

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to listen to some late crickets,

two in particular, one fast and loud,

the other soft and contemplative,

both keeping time with their different selves.

The night air is cool. A car rushes

down the road, hitting the manhole

with the usual crump.

Neighbors are conversing across the way,

murmuring and laughing.

The moon is swelling toward full.

A distant plane flies in front of it,

its lights winking, as though aware

of some cosmic delight in all

that is going on.