Bikes lay lifeless on tan lawns
doors shut
curtains closed
swamp coolers murmur

Sun at its zenith

At the bottom of the street
the abandoned orchard
forgets to breathe

A child, still, I duck beneath branches,
cracked apples clinging to them,
and sit cross-legged on dry leaves.

I close my eyes
try to hear deep
into the quiet—

bees step across dried apple ooze
ants’ shuffle in solemn lines
crisp leaves shift over field mice
burrowing behind me

I apprentice myself
to this mystery,
ask to be let in

Out on the street
heatwaves hum
their single note on asphalt
and all the way up
the tanned mountain
silent
in the relentless blue sky