Yes, rather a cliché s title and picture during this cicada swarm summer, but there seems little more relevant image at this moment of din outside my door.
Had I a life beyond my own,
Alternate senses, fancies grown,
I’d glimpse green leaves ‘gainst bright blue sky,
Ride wind blown twigs,
Tread currents high.
Had I daft dreams beyond cave nights,
Winsome hopes, un-sown heights,
I’d shed this skin too small to hold
Wild dreams, vast visions – rare and bold.
Had I a chance to draft new mark,
Undo dark years of burrow stark
I’d trade those years of darkened maze,
For these few brief and frenzied days.