crickets singing their passion in the dark
protected by the roots, dirt, and stalks
dry leaves skipping across the stone pathway
scooped along
by the quiet breeze
at my window memories of nights on a porch
while little ones slept in their beds
my desire enjoying the night’s perfume
my passion swirling through each breath
ink spilling spilled onto the page
no one would discover my brilliance
pages turning turned would soon be hidden
my dreams opened would see only the night
the passion of crickets seeking their nightly release
the joy of leaves on their final journey about the place
the evidence of unspoken unexplored passion meeting my eyes
roots, dirt, and stalk with a quiet breeze are still here
