There is a story. It eludes my grasp. When I work to shape it’s contours, it soars beyond me.
birdsongs
the rival for territory
continues
There is a story. It teases and hints at being told. When I reach for its structure, it crouches back into shadows.
traffic drone
another cicada
sounds off
There is a story. It’s palpably close, yet impossibly distant. But when I wait for its essence, it descends like soft rain on thirsty ground.
summer breeze
birdsong and cicadas vie
with machinery
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Frank J. Tassone 
It was wonderful to hear you read this, Frank–though I enjoy seeing the structure of it here in print, too.
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Yes, and the song, the hum and buzz of machinery married to the hiss, squeal and click of the internet, erases the pleasures awaiting beyond the suburbs.
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I’m sorry I didn’t hear you read this – I love the repetition and the contrast between natural and machine sounds.
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This has a wonderful rhythm Frank. (K)
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Thank you, K! 😀
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I so enjoyed hearing you read this one, Frank 😀 especially love; “There is a story. It’s palpably close, yet impossibly distant. But when I wait for its essence, it descends like soft rain on thirsty ground.” 💝💝
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Thank you, Sanaa! 😀
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You’re most welcome 💝💝
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an absolutely beautiful combination of prose and haiku Frank!
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Thanks, Ingrid! 😀
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