Out-lines
The trees of Pennsylvania are
turning
dark by night- and
filling with the summer air
of cricket song taking
up all the room
in the musty sky.
All that is left are
the spaces in between-
the fringe of the pined
needles squiggling velvet
lines into triangle shapes
for me to peer through.
The crickets raise
their roar,
and the triangles fill in.
BK
September 2015
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