Lakeshore Path
The rapid ratcheting
seems everywhere above me, lacing
the treetops into a single wordless voice.
Along the lakeshore path where I run,
the dog-day cicadas in the high branches
pulse like the sputtering sprinklers
on the lawns back home.
I like this dirt road because
it’s easy on my knees, because
I’m far from the voices
that would untie me from myself
and have me follow.
I like these trees that shade me,
they seem well-knit
with all the things around them—
the moss, the ants, birds
I can and cannot name,
the pebbles that stick in my shoes.
Maybe the cicadas look with pleasure, as I do, up
into the green, sunlit leaves.
Maybe their calling begins in the blood 
that is always threading
through their beautiful bodies.

Copyright 2005 by Brian Dean Powers
Published in the 2007 Wisconsin Poets’ Calendar


10 thoughts on “Cicadas

    1. The poem is a little early, as cicadas don’t arrive here until August. But I wanted to post something positive.

      I hope you and Guido have a great day on Monday. If there’s a wedding bouquet, please toss it across the pond to me.


  1. cicadas are usually brushed off as just bugs but their presence means so much… Love your sweet poem. I love nature and reading your blog feels like living in it. Beautiful work. Keep it up.


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