Grass abuzz, the cicadas are hatching,
shimmering soil from their wings and swimming
up, up, up into circlets of sun. 

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They call us to picnic under the hum,
to come pick strawberries and swan dive them
into chocolate rivers and marshmallow ponds.

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At sunset, the envelope of night folds over,
enclosing today’s freshly penned love letter
pressing the clouds into an intricate seal.

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Tomorrow, new buds will unpeel to meet feelers,
hungry bees will take breathers on our fingers
and sip sugar water from our jam lids

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but for now, cicadas descend, settle again,
and I lay my head in your lap of denim
snug and safe in my cocoon of gingham.