Cicadas

It was, I think, last night
while we walked home the long way, down
by Houghton's Pond your hand finding its way
into mine as cicadas from two groups began to sing
out of time with each other, the waterside group first

followed by the hillside band. Frantic to mate 
after thirteen years below the earth, 
the rhythms of the two groups quickly merged 
until you could only hear one song, 
crescendoing, one crazed call, "Kiss, kiss, kiss".

I stopped to reel you in, to feel your lips against mine,
accompanied by our very own private  
above-ground chorus. I think I remember 
our own insect voices joining together
as if to say "we were two - now we are one".

Maybe it wasn't last night.
Perhaps it was a dream and not a memory.
Maybe it was a lifetime ago, or not.
Could it be you didn't ever exist ...
but God I remember the song of the cicadas.

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Lovers holding hands

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