Crickets sing in the night;
Their violins carol or dirge rather,
A chorus to accompany an awkward pause,
To cheer or rather to mock
My reading of her silence
Upon a canvas blackened of my sins.
My enemies surround me as I lie in bed;
In the night they scour in legions.
Scuttering they scutter forth;
Scurrying they scurry.
Their deeds they plan in the secret parts;
Their messengers spy out our dwelling places.
They loath the light.
Let their thievery steal away their nest,
And the food which they plunder: poison!
Their backs shall lie where their feet tread,
and their bellies under their folded arms.
O Lord, cast them out from our inhabitation,
And remove all their uncleanness.
For you are a God who abhors filthiness.