A painting by Yangyang Pan.
And even the crickets refused to sing
as the days approached summer’s foot.
They cower in the night and tied their wing,
under dead stars and skies black as soot.And try as I might to recall their song
or trace across the highway the stars’ nightly route,
my heart fails to return where it had once belonged,
slumped in an upset where crickets and heart are mute.





