The Snow Cricket

Just beyond the leaves and the white faces

Of the lilies,

I saw the wings

Of the green snow cricket

As it went flying

From vine to vine,

Searching, then finding a shadowed place in which

To sing and sing…

One repeated

Rippling phrase

Built of loneliness

And its consequences: longing

And hope…

It was trembling

With the force of its crying out,

And in truth I couldn’t wait to see if another would come to it

For fear that it wouldn’t,

And I wouldn’t be able to bear it

I wished it good luck, with all my heart,

And went back over the lawn, to where the lilies were standing

On their calm, cob feet,

Each in the ease

Of a single, waxy body

Breathing contentedly in the chill night air;

And I swear I pitied them, as I looked down

into the theater of their perfect faces-

That frozen, bottomless glare.

Have you ever cried out in the night from lonliness? I don’t think I am alone if I were to answer, yes. There have been plenty of long, hard nights – of illness, of risk, of foolishness, and just plain ole human despair. Do you have nights where you wish someone would come join you, almost anyone, just as long as they embraced you for all of who you are and would be your silent companion? And they don’t come. Some time then in the long hours as you cry alone and come through the depths of pain you look up and see the stars or perhaps the sun’s light peaks into your soul or maybe you fall into a dreamscape. Either way some relief comes, for you have seen the essence of living, and of dying. What seems remarkable to me that in the next day, if anyone was to see those who have had these nights of longing, we couldn’t tell. For we return to the waking world asleep, with a frozen face signaling as well as we might that we are okay, we are perfect, and no need to worry about me. What if we carried that longing, that song, that trembling, that hope throughout the day? What if I did? What if you did?