Crickets Poem by nathan martin

big rain little booted buddha
hopping in a monsoon knapsack.

a mural pasture filled with green
slender stalks lean in rows.

children are playing in between the spaces
dark skinned and vibrant.

they wear snorkels around there heads
and breath aqua marine.

bent labor can wait since the trees have all grown
into archaic reefs.

now the rain descends suicidally transparent
in the unshethed wind.

only the crickets have paused and grown silent.