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Assumptions
I can only assume the crickets
are talking about me
chirping vicious rumors
in their foreign vocabulary
which cuts through the descending summer night
like heat lightning.
I can only assume this because
why else, then,
would they suddenly
stop
as I walk by on this darkening June evening,
cease their lyrical chatter
as I pass the large bush
in which they hold their
private cricket council,
discussing most fervently each night
what I can only assume
are matters of grave societal importance:
the haughty summer breeze,
the arrogant, silent moon.
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