background image
under cricket music
A fragment
Crickets from where the hill is steep
And dark under the oaks across the street
Keep up a clear and brilliant threep -- threep -- threep,
A little harsh, with a quick beat,
Filtering through trees the jounce of harness bells,
These late fall nights, somehow, from some place else --
Some time else. I remember, though,
Mainly the sound, with much else fallen away,
Leaving nostalgia with no place to go.
A team heading home, end of the day.
Would the small bright bells chink from tugs, or hames,
Or bridles -- I don't know.
I cannot even recall the horses' names....
At a small hour I again awake;
In the live silence one cricket's creaking on
Slowly, now, muted, but without a break.
He's quiet when I wake at dawn:
Trim bit of reality for in between
Dreams, and oblivion,
That take their turns all night on the inner scene.
Oblivion that slides in, recedes,
Slides in, all the while fl oating all that is,
Is best of all -- `Come, sleep,' come dark that feeds
Into the veins cool nothingness --