all the cicadas have hollowed by now
their husks fall from the sky like
leaves, wispy little bodies
that crunch beneath my shoes
I sleep under trees in the afternoons,
wake up cocooned in wings
and hard red eyes
a second autumn
the sun waxes distant
as it wanes
winter knocks sharply on my door
--go away,
I say to the wind
--please let me sleep
for seventeen years
under the earth
let me be a cicada
and rebirth singing
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