Listening to Cicadas, I See Charlottesville (Ghazal, with recording)

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Listening to Cicadas, I See Charlottesville (Ghazal)

Shedding one coat, you live in the red, apart
from the rest. Never together, forever apart.

In this sun-drenched field, the cracks drill deeper,
wider, dribbling soil and small lives, expanding, apart.

What falls truer than any words released from this man?
Once divided, never again to touch, always apart.

The electric shrill fluctuates pitch, in unison. Hundreds
of tymbals, shredding dusk, now together, then apart.

You narrow your eye to a slit, but still see the entire
spectrum. Wing clicks, stridulation. Whole yet apart.

Shearing syllables, I learn the language of half-truth.
What is my name? I reach for that fragment. It falls apart.

 

 

16 thoughts on “Listening to Cicadas, I See Charlottesville (Ghazal, with recording)”

  1. “The electric shrill”… what a perfect way to describe the cacophony of hissing that is the sound of cicadas. It really has an ‘electricity to it. I have described the sound as a basic hiss for years, but could never really capture the feeling of it. It also has a kind of fluctuating quality to it that is almost hypnotic. Maybe it is just me, but the cicade shrill puts me into a kind of blissful hypnosis (at the right volume). It has such a strong connection to blissfully hot days in Japan, lying half asleep/drunk in the summer shade… those damn bugs electrically shrilling… total Paradise!

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