Cricket stories

We are looking for our stories
In the park ,under a thin tree
On green bench ,thereabouts.
A person coughs, wipes his face
In a silhouette, drinking water
To a raised throat, diagonally
As sun strikes and a white wall
Stays put in shadows of hedge.

Cricket stories abound in there.
Grass replicates the past words
On bare feet to  earth, cracked
Like mind in a nothing’s duress.
The body  re-thinks own stories
Physical stories mired in words.

Stories are just words of things
Behind , wiggling worms found
Under long lying stones in sun.
They are crickets creaking under
Vague stones lying in the grass.

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