Soundings
       

Now that nights are warm,

            the slightest sound,

a scrap of language,

            connects me with you.

There is always the return

            to you in the night like a bat

to something detected

            in the wavy space

around it. Always the murmur:

            insects reclaiming ground.

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Copyright © 2016 Marc Frazier All rights reserved
from Each Thing Touches
Glass Lyre Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission