Dissonance, Late August
 

Larval husks litter the fence
hang from tree bark and porch railings
discarded amber of the earth from which they emerged
after 17 years of gnawing roots of trees
to unfurl gossamer wings, to fly.

In evenings after work these last few weeks
I shut off the engine and open my car door
to a sound loud enough to stop thought
like fire alarms in office towers
and stare into the canopy of old trees
around my old house, my bad eyes
unable to make out their shapes
against the summer green of silver maple
and sweet gum leaves

singing and mating and trenching tree bark
laying eggs, setting up a world for their children
who will hatch to migrate with gravity into cool soil
and burrow deep to eat and sleep and wait and wait and wait.
 
The dying fall as we all will.

© Shawn Pavey, 2015. All rights reserved.