Dusk

by Elisabeth Harrahy

My lover beckons from the back porch swing
for me to view the magic of the sky.
Beneath the thin cloud canopy now sings
a circus tent of crickets magnified
in concert, young spring peepers honored guests.
I pause — then push the worn screen door and head
outside to hear those sounds I once loved best,
but listen to my lover breathe instead.
His breath, it seems to whisper, “Take my hand,
away we’ll go above the sassafras,
beyond the big–top.” While our bodies stand
amid the laurel, earth perspires grass
in cycles — bringing life, then bringing death.
So bound, I fear, I pray then to be deaf