the 70-degree midnight sound of crickets
squeaks in and settles onto the damp patches
of emptiness, sky indigo and littered with
fireflies and constellations traced with fingers.
Poem 4/16/14
(writer. editor. instructor.)
(writer. editor. instructor.)
the 70-degree midnight sound of crickets
squeaks in and settles onto the damp patches
of emptiness, sky indigo and littered with
fireflies and constellations traced with fingers.
Kevin A. Risner 