Richie Hofmann

“Cicadas bury themselves in small mouths
of the tree's hollow, lie against the bark tongues like amulets,

though it is I who pray I might shake off this skin and be raised
from the ground again. I have nothing

to confess. I don't yet know that I possess
a body built for love. When the wind grazes

its way toward something colder,
you, too, will be changed. One life abrades

another, rough cloth, expostulation.
When I open my mouth, I am like an insect undressing itself.”
― Richie Hofmann