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The crickets are chatteringâ€”
the original tweeters.
The moths are mooning
over the halogen porch light.
Itâ€™s half past ten, and a train is lumbering
through town, horn wide open.
In the pond the bullfrogs are calling,
and a dog is barking in response.
The stars are winking fireflies.
The fireflies are hovering stars.
Exploring the Boundaries of Comfort
It was fallâ€”leaf crunching time.
Jenna and I went hiking,
used worn out huntersâ€™ ribbons
around the trees as our guides.
We trekked through glowing birch,
on logs over tumbling creeks,
toward the setting sun and realized
we were lost in the woods,
and much like Hansel and Gretelâ€”
our breadcrumbs were long gone.
We argued over how to get home,
and Jenna become more frantic.
Despite aching leg muscles
and lungs fighting asthma,
I remained calm.
I liked being lost.
The worries that swarmed
my mind disappeared.
My thoughts concentrated.
As dusk settled over the forest
and we found the way home,
Jenna gradually relaxed,
but with each step I picked up tension
like a child gathering stones.
herself in layers,
like a woman peeling
off her clothes.
In summer, she bares
chicory by the roadside.