O, cricket—o, pretty black blood
cupped beneath scent. You are whole
if eggs, if noise, if the heat of why.
Instead, you still, a noble death—
a death removed from air, & thus
the seeds, thus the song by sword.
Karissa Morton is originally from Des Moines, Iowa, & holds an MFA in poetry from Bowling Green State University where she currently teaches courses in creative writing & freshman comp.
Nocturne