cicadas

blink my eyes slowly
as i come to realize all the things we will not do
choose to play the piano or not
to touch the keys with temerity or tenacity
ask for forgiveness or forge ahead unfeeling
you know a cicada lives underground for 17 years
a crawling breathing husk until it squeezes out
its own shell a 17-year-old prison
these things happen
i let you down
i sit on uncomfortable benches and watch fading white light
move across a cold brown room
breathing shallowly softly behind your shoulder
silently passing time
i once ran 3 miles
i once read 400 pages in a day
meanwhile the cicadas kept breathing underground
a timeless cycle unmarked by earthly misfortune