Cicadas no. 2

[busker]

Cicadas no. 2

Born inside the ancient flow
of skin-tight summer’s 
ancient scripture
we sing a drill down song,
our invisible longing for light
lost to the mirror of  the sun.
We traverse the strewn net
of trees signaling the breeze
to souls below us who wander
listening as our music
pulls them into the orbit of heat.

I'm not sure about the last two lines, beautiful as they are. The cicadas emerge, but the souls don't. Is that the point? If so, then the rest of the poem doesn't seem to be shaping up to deliver that last thought. Maybe if the title had been 'No General Resurrection' or something like that?

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But on its own, the last line is fantastic.

'flow of a skin tight scripture' is another one that I didn't care much for