it

it's hitting me.

warbling

memphis is playing a cacophony for us tonight, baby
of cicadas screaming for a somebody,
of boxcars wishing for the past.
and one day,
this will course through everything,
a weak circulation from better days, too
veinous and steely to render a mistake

i can feel how still the trees are
now
even with the living things moving inside of them:

"I was in love once."

the crickets drown all my miss-yous
in this siren-dirtied air,
with my neurons forever synaptic between evolution and
how you always
felt.

things

are most evasive when needed.