Not noise, exactly, though loud,
nor is it song, although
the elements of song
ring through its complex shout.
It is urgent, irrepressible,
strident, upwelling from the trees,
the evening, everywhere,
this cry, collective and triumphant,
of all these katydids,
at once imperative, instinctive,
defining the Midwest evening
flinging its complicated sounds,
its hullabaloo, at the arriving stars.