The cricket in the lavender
doesn't ever seem to sleep.
All night he chatters, and next morning
he's still got plenty to say. I don't know
how long crickets live, but surely
last night was at least one year of his life.
What could be so interesting,
so complicated that it takes
a whole year to tell?
I sit in the crabgrass. I've got time.
photograph by Molly Wizenberg
