Cricket-Song at Dusk

It's a poem with absolutely no mention of substance abuse!

We lie beneath stars in late July

and listen to the cricket-song;

an orchestra of beautiful,

rusty violins, reaching out to us

from the bushes, from the

woods at dusk, visible in its face

but dark with unknown depths

and unseen barriers and obstacles

were we to clasp hands, wet from

sweat after a brisk early evening walk

just after the heat of another

hellish July day settled down enough

to enjoy the wet, stale air

between our glistening faces on the dock,

listening to crickets play their

beautiful summer night dusk song,

neither of us admitting we would prefer it

if we were to just go home.