for the cricket’s quiet chirp

man
dancer upon his own dirt
unbeliever in his gods 
seemingly without recourse
but he has misconceived of their flight
as though they've absconded at his bluffs
instead they hide now within him;
through his feet they stomp
in his throat they wail
surprised at his creative hand 
man, the dirty puppet 
convinced he's a 'real boy'
best he pray