Crickets and Other Presences

Taking out the garbage I pause

to listen to some late crickets,

two in particular, one fast and loud,

the other soft and contemplative,

both keeping time with their different selves.

The night air is cool. A car rushes

down the road, hitting the manhole

with the usual crump.

Neighbors are conversing across the way,

murmuring and laughing.

The moon is swelling toward full.

A distant plane flies in front of it,

its lights winking, as though aware

of some cosmic delight in all

that is going on.