Cicada

Each word is a brick
obscuring my vision of you,
when I would use none
for this Cicada
on a string;
distilling
all
to the resounding hum
of knowing you are
there beyond
the wall I do not want
to be building,
whispering through
the chink, walking
through walls
weaving trees
climbing up through
a humid earth, flavouring
this cicada song
with breath,
knowing,
before words
and after
when I would use none.