In February by Rodd Whelpley

I miss the crickets
and cicadas – string section
of a glorious summer.
The bows and arrows,
the whole history
of Valentines
can never be the equal
of the after-sunset hum
on June the fifth, heat lightning
or else a violent storm –
strobe light of clouds.
The syncopated ticks
of beetles on the window glass.
The ache of winter absent
in the marrow.
a stir of memory and snow,
a jigger of anticipation.
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Rodd Whelpley manages an electric efficiency program for 32 cities across Illinois and lives near Springfield. His poems have appeared

