.
The chorus of cicadas
Ten thousand strong
Escalates and accelerates
Then slows and fades
Like the day itself
Like summer itself.
.
In weeks this noise
Which now seems almost a part of the Earth
Will vanish and the sky be white with silence
And only the whisper of the wings of the late migrations
To make us cry.
.
The distant train enters the tunnel with whining horn
Its tone dropping from silver major to grey minor as it races inside the mountain
Rickety-rack, rickety-rack, rickety-rack.
Copyright 2015
Home Economics 
I’m listening to cicadas right now andyou definitely captured the spirit of that. Lovely.
thanks