Insect rhythms rise and saw
Beneath a half-moon midnight sky—
Here a steady cricket’s chirping whir,
There a syncopated shaker or an
Intermittent washboard whisk.
The invisible ensemble revels
In jazzy solos and calls and responses,
Weaving countless lines into a warm blanket
Of song without a breath of silence—
Incessant until the inscrutable conductor
Leaves the stage, somewhere between
Midnight and dawn. And the trees
Wave their hands in a standing ovation
As the first bird hops on stage
To start the next watch
With a solo that’s not alone long.