moved desks all afternoon into the building
while the cicada song swelled and dissipated.
then there were crickets, a steady
murmur,
leaves perforated by Japanese beetles.
there were doors, though we were just beginning
to use them. they creaked
after a long time being closed.
countless bodies
in chorus,
in cooperation,
in relocation. at the end of the moving day
I was so tired I dreamed
my classmates pushed boxes through my bedroom.
they told me the angels do live in heaven and yes
the angels do live in heaven.
the only things we didn't have to move
were the clocks
periodical cicadas emerge in a place once every 13
or 17 years in dense populations called broods.
countless unseen bodies in proximity,
it all
sounded like a story I'd heard.
I started to believe the cicadas were
the angels.