Under Cricket Music
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.