Chasing Crickets - a poem

If it is possible to capture the moment
like a cricket one goes chasing after
on bent knees as a child, I would.
Quietly, I would cup my palms
in polar regions,
enclosing towards the silent insect
as it twitches its antennas,
waiting to jump again.
But just like those pesky creatures
whenever I am close to catching it,
in a quick bound, it hops away.
My little feet scuffle onward,
attempting a capture, but it escapes.
I reattempt, it dodges.
Finally, I lunge forward, trying to land
the fleshly, dark cage of my hands
over the tiny Houdini
and all of sudden, it's gone.
After a moment of frustration,
I rise, dust myself off,
and as soon as I open my eyes,
I see another one just ahead,
twitching, waiting to play my game.
For years, I have continued this,
Practicing my predatory patience.
Some days, I catch several,
but as they tickle my fingers,
There is no question what I must do.
I cannot hang onto them forever,
they are too tiny, they call
for too much attention.
One day, after years of chasing,
just as suddenly they disappear,
I will stop. Crossing my legs, I will sit
and watch as they hop around me,
dodging all the other children
chasing them. That night,
as I lay staring at my bedroom ceiling,
waning like the moon casting shadows
right outside my window,
I will listen to the tiny creatures
orchestrating a symphony. Obviously,
I already know they sing, but before that time,
Surely, I will have never heard them so clearly.