Quiet except crickets
almost drowned by fan.
Gnats diving fifty-watt bulb,
not tired enough for sleep,
stare out window
nearest street lights
half mile away
shine through live oaks
along Borland Ave.
Stillness settles except
for those damn crickets
mating calls
enter ears overwhelm
what peace there was
keeping me awake.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem