The Time Signature of Night

The crickets sing their evening chord

the levels of their throats

what note

is that?

High pitched hum

lovely thrum,

the lovely sound of night.

I don’t want to lay among them in the grass,

among their bulging eyes

and bony legs

and sawing jaws.

But the sound of all that rubbing

and throating

gives me pause.

Different pitches, different paces,

up in trees or different places

calms me from my window.

Sending up their song from dewy grass

from tree trunks

and flower petals like painted glass

Staghorn sumac and sunflower face

is this where the Tuvans’ throat

singing learned its place?