the breeze this summer is more austerely rationed than wartime bread
thank God for the crickets’ generosity, filling the stale air with music

July has been uncertain, filled with rumors of mortality, and August has not helped,
and my wife carries the worrying for our son like a shroud

the porch is a church tonight as we respect the dark and choose to light no candles;
we have been speaking without a single word as the sauce simmers 
promising the solace of a meal prepared with volunteer tomatoes

and the music tonight comes from small creatures
scraping their legs on their bellies like guitars