this is the cicada buzzing your breezy afternoon sleepy lidded into cool evening fresh pollen-scent slipping open moonflowers. our hot coals burned low the ancestors' taste crisped char smoke flavored rumbling belly gathered hunted meal. where your family was together all twenty-eight clannish cousins still alive this dry season baking the last pods to fullness before cool leaves-falling time. blue pastel like the calcium mountaintop lakes bighorn promenade cold high pastures of the nomad brothers we forgot in their sky vaulted retreats wispy cloud enshrouded huts above the steaming tree full valleys. this is the cicada buzzing your breezy evening waiting for the full moon foggy mist lowland marsh horsetail fluff floating hide and seek children's games memories away under this old burr oak on the blufftop overlooking lazy river wildflowers. cooing pheasant dinner crunching ivy seeds walks slowly underbrush camoflaged for your unslit eye's spring preparations. smokey naked dancing ritual with painted faces juniper sweet sage and pine fresh dusty dry rain dance sacrificing sweat and cold new moon drops berry fat in half light too early for the songbirds. they are the rivals next vally occupied and that beautiful one is all alone skin sun kissed and private where well met and parted fresh bloodlines met and rivals no more for this cause and goats changed hands as well in the hot midday shade before the unprivate closed overhead nuptual tent and squalling babies cry imagined in arms held tightly loins driven vision approach and meeting. this is the cicada buzzing from its underground on misty cool morning toward warm breezes new generation returning slow breathing day dreaming.


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