The Days, They Fall Upon

the kitchen light goes on, in
the pre-dawn, and outside the cicadas
fly in dizzy rafts, they thump against
the window glass, I draw water
in fizzy drafts, my head, it slumps
whence, the craving pillow, alas

the days, they fall upon
like Keystone Cops, yet unfunny
these antics in the fog, I once
was taught the art of sleep
by a silent, fallen log