CICADA -- 1

Its been seventeen years
Since I peered in to your quizzical red-eyed face, 
And wondered what you thought about, 
And whether you liked me.
For all those patient years 
You have burrowed in the dark earth,
Secure in the knowledge
That time would remember the hour of your re-birth.
Perhaps by the next time 
I will have learned your talent 
For letting go, 
And putting away, 
And I will be able to join you 
When you step out into the sunlight
And hang your bones upon a branch
In the summer of your fulfilled and final hour.