A Cricket Sang Good Luck

I sat against your knees all night. I watched the sun rise in your coffee cup. In all that time you never spoke to me. I think I must have cried a thousand tears. Inside the wall a cricket sang good luck. The irony of that did not escape you. For when I tilted up my chin you smiled To think how once he conned us with that song. The morning rises white against the pane, Bland as a sheet of paper without words. Our eyes communicate it silently, I think this fog goes on and on, my friend. I sat against your knees all day. I watched the sun sink in your coffee cup. I think we must have cried a thousand tears. Before the cricket sang us both to sleep. From my book, 'The Colors Cry In Rain', Apollo Books, USA