THE SCREEN
Westerbeck, Colin L. Jr.
JOHN FANDEL LATE AUGUST NIGHT By dusk, these days, crickets and all their multilingual kin, swell the undulant dark, static to the sun hummed into grasses, an afternoon sound you can...
...Suppose, I muse,—just this side of sleep— their iterate reiterate rite, a fair invoice of dark, were light...
...JOHN FANDEL LATE AUGUST NIGHT By dusk, these days, crickets and all their multilingual kin, swell the undulant dark, static to the sun hummed into grasses, an afternoon sound you can mistake for bees competing with high-tension shine in clover or power-lines strung over the murmuring pine...
...Would sun refuse to rise...
...Would stars compete...
...Could moon mimic such strumming lumination...
...I can doze off upon such pulsing darkness and wake again to hear the dynamos click h, cricket et cetera cricket, their long, toiling in the dark sounded out...
...Lucky, things as they are are as they are...
...So night is a crescendo...
Vol. 105 • July 1978 • No. 13
