It is cold in this basement
Cracks in the casement
Windows leak whatever warmth
To the suckling of the cold.
Share! Share creaks the air
Of that many mouthed night sky.
In a forest of bare breasted trees,
Their raiment mulching around their knees
Winds a path I build when I first got here
Now only walked by squirrels and deer
Within the house, but still below ground
Is that subtly comforting electronic sound
Of the magical cricket machine.
Cricket Machine
Posted: January 18, 2002 in PoetryTags: Breast, Cricket, Deer, Machine, Night, Sky, Squirrel, Tree, Window
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