Clouds poetry

Crickets sing for t h e m

Crickets cry a different song

I hear them at night singing for the dead the empty–

The walking but not lived, not loved, the numb

Owls they sit hidden not seen somewhere in

The tree on a branch they watched the world in

A duration magnifying glass zooming in and

out eyes set like hawks

A broken telephone and no ride home

Woman needs a flying carpet how—

Lucky god sent a taxicab tension release her like

Deaths not ready yet.

-ashes poetry