Crickets roam our bedroom,  gentle chorus in the gloaming. Stalking through once-silent dreams;  on tiny feet, a-roaming.  Where do they go, my crickets, when  the nighttime hours fade?  When the darkness peels away to light,  and the bed is carefully made?  I check in all the crevices,  the crannies and the nooks— I research on the internet. I cross-reference it in books. I riffle racks of dresses in the murky walk-in robe, peer under all the scattered shoes and unfold my folded clothes. But my gryllidae stay hidden until the evening falls.  I am left here—searching— amidst four silent walls.  Some days are for writing veterinary biographies, some for dreaming…