The Voice (from The Second Naivety)

The Voice

I saw a little girl in the wood
a crown of clover flowers in her hair
sweet girl apocalyptic girl
chewing on locust wings and honey sickles
chewing on god
she danced around an oak tree stump
with a cricket in her hand
and a voice like a waterfall saying
‘prepare a way for the cricket king
make ready the silence for he who chirps’
and she baptized the cricket with twigs
and stones and a smattering of leaves
and whispered to that heap
and then to heaven
spreading her arms to invite the
quite of the wood
so that there was no wind
or field mice treading through the dirt
or falling leaflets to the earth
until a profound stillness rapt the girl
in anticipation of the coming

but there was nothing
no chirp to fill the void
though she waded through twilight
and tired arms and successive hopes
the cricket remained hidden and mute
even as the sun edged over the horizon  
so that she wondered whether it had died
or whether the darkness
now made her a liberal and a skeptic
and because she could not hear or see
she spat the locust wings and the honey
and cast the garland from her hair
asking a question to end the silence
‘if a cricket makes no chirp
and all are trying to hear it
does it make a sound
does god love us as much as we love him’