Soundscape

At night, after the lake has settled itself

and smoothed its rough waters to a satin sheet

glimmering now the moon’s pale reflection,

the only sound is the crunch of my own footsteps

on the loose gravel of my yard, a soft grinding

of heel and toe scuffed across the driveway,

and the cicadas’ steady hum in the still air

ringing ‘round me, background noise on a soundless night

interrupted only by the deep, sharp gulp of a bullfrog

calling from the swamp beyond, a primordial discourse

softly echoing, an ancient voice rising up, crying out.