Craig W. Steele

Red-eyed bugs in the millions
crawl from underground beds,
invading the surface at dusk—
hail a new generation of
swarming cicadas emerging.

They settle on branches,
shedding thin brittle shells,
flexing damp filmy wings—
trees begin sprouting new leaves of
silent cicadas a-waiting.

At dawn, they warm up: tick, tick, tick ... zzzzt.
Without warning, they all begin singing,
ripping the silence like sleeping bags being unzipped—
quiet thoughts are impossible with
singing cicadas performing.

They’re a promise fulfilled, after
seventeen years in abeyance,
both alpha and omega—
so take joy in the din of
surging cicadas returning.