Cicada,
Where did you go, mellifluous creature of my heart? And why did you leave me this gift? So many months since the vivacity of your song carved out my aural cavities and filled them with the mold of summer. And still, your vacant legs cling to the bricks adorning my family’s door. Your eternal phantom knock reminds me of those moments where I was found. And lost, and still your shadow grants me not the least reprieve from nostalgia’s gruesome ache. How much of you is still there? An inch and a half of sungrown jubilee where I continue to plaster my misshapen mural.
Inchoate 