Cicada

dry, crumbling, molted husks
hanging off the trees

arms outstretched, frozen mid-step
yellow-tinted, thin, bent knees
decoys belonging to flitting cicadas
that hide somewhere within the green

elsewhere the insects roam
harmonizing in hidden throngs
within the hardwood and greenery,
they cry out their shrieks and songs

the air is thick with the wails of tiny creatures
screaming from the unseen
enveloped by distant foliage
abandoned shells mark where they have been

their large, protruding eyes swivel
they can see you, but you can only hear
pulsing, throbbing, waving trills
shattering melodies ring with the wind