seven forty pm in the country in Kansas
It is 7:41 p.m.
we are in the middle of the forest
in a meadow, in the country, in Kansas
unnamed insects are cheeping and buzzing
my sixty-two-foot oak is singing with sounds
a half-moon is barely visible
the sky is light, not blue, not gray
my dog nuzzles my hand
he’s a baby, needing attention
fancies that I am his mama
my older dog waits for the puppy’s cue
dog next door is still making noise
in unison they begin their neighborly barking responses
I wait for nine thousand insects to descend on my head
thinking crickets, mosquitos, ticks and locusts
the cheeping and buzzing is louder now.
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