Blue and gold and black
Summer surprised us with latent weight
Its potential energy
And now, like crickets massed in dry grasses,
Prophecies whisper and rattle at every footfall
And some, no doubt, are crushed.
Most, no doubt, are crushed
Or spring away to live and die
But I could bend
(Or you could bend)
Stilled to a sudden attention
And, with cupped hands
Clam one as it sits
And change our course thereafter,
Walking back across the buzzing field.