EARLY HEAT WAVE the new moon takes its pincers to the shadow of the month to come those ants the other day who found the shred of pear dropped from my mouth they were so quick-moving they would have looked like birds if the flagstones had looked more like sky the heat hangs on after sundown a jet drags its white tail across the dusk I listen carefully but nowhere is there a sound like my mother's troubled breathing I can feel my listening go out in every direction all around everything is round: earth sky day night stars space all round ever is round never is round but there is only one center for both a tick or tock out of which either one is equally likely to come to pass the unhurried and inescapable now at the same distance from all extremes I think of my mother breathing far away I think of my footsteps going on without me somewhere someday