Postcard 12

Raspy Scream Cicada Song
Rippling overhead
A disturbance through the canopy
Look up and expect to see
The leaves shuddering
Shaking to the rattle
Shimmying as the sound
Yet all is still
No movement of branches
No rustle of limbs
Those waves that crash
Build, recede, from tree
To tree to tree to tree,
Is not solid. It has no weight
Its thingness is ephemeral
Its existence cannot be touched
Fades with the wind


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