Church bells sing
in the thick, hot air
and humidity clings
to skin and hair;
only AC units growl and grind
in reply. Even the dogs are silent
in the heat of this summer-spring,
and the children have retreated
inside for quarantine.

But, I'm walking in the heat, anyway.
This miserable silence is supreme.

Chimes jangle eerily with a fleeting breeze,
and robins are chirping in the trees.
There's a dead copperhead
curled like an “L” on the concrete,
baked black after two days:
it slithered out from the shade
and died alone.

I'm out here alone and alive.
I'm wondering what's going on
across the world, where radio stations play
so far away.
Is anyone else strolling in a sweat,
or through a chill,
hearing some church bells trill?
Do they feel as small and remote as I feel?

There's no network to connect
solitary creatures across seas.
Only thoughts can take us to them –
or a slight sensation of solemn intuition,
lost across waves of time.

And it is time that took me
from the shade of my home,
crawling out in search
of something
warm,
something not of the sun.

But, there's only one soul
walking this street,
and no other to meet.