Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. ~ Thomas Gray
There were cicadas in New Mexico. Every summer we would hear them. I'm dreadfully insectophobic, but I didn't mind them. They were big, slow-moving things that kept to themselves rather than flying at people like some insects have a tendency to do.
I like the way the original echoes in your tanka, Susie, and the sounds of the cicada are coupled with the line 'stars candle our communion'.