the crickets sing ceaselessly
the moon hanging droopy in a north east sky
a train rolls south slowly across
the 14th Street Bridge
at this late … or is it early ? hour
traffic picks up across the 2nd Street Bridge from Indiana
the air is cool, cool like before sunrise
it is too dry for dew here just now
too urban for such non-human tears
the sort of memory crickets might croon about
if they could embody memory