My own personal cricket,
the metronome of this day,
chirps a steady solo in the dark.
Under the bench, under the eaves, under my ear,
under my piece of Orion's belt
which tonight feels too tight.
Satiated I sit and stare-
Full of duckling, wine and seasoned sky.
The long breath off the lake
Fetches glitter, fluff and graduated blue.
Who would change a thing?
I am too full for answers-