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.