An over exposed photo of a cicada resting on a windowsill
Photo by Frederic John

Around the funky

Trunk

Crawled the pollid

Nymphs,

Splitting their

Lime-green morning suits

As they came—

Seeking not fortune or

Fame;

But their own kind;

Melding opposite

Number

In a torrid chorus

of love.

Passage of weeks

These lovable freaks

Have left only fragile

Gossamer trinkets, of

Crush wing-lets…