September Crickets

With the urgency of boreal fecundity

let us prick our souls and hasten the blooming summer

let us lap, and lap, and lap

insisting like westerly waves of Gitche Gumee

to make landfall, to make love all

enveloping and awash in soaking saturation

and then stop.

Freeze the frame and hold

hold

hold

in instinctive heroic futility

of resistance to the moving tectonics of time

the grinding, grabbing and whittling

the glacially irresistible power and motion

of forces so much larger than ourselves

hold and hold

for soon we will cry in our last voices like September crickets

for a day just one more.