One must have a mind of summer
To regard the haze and the rain showers
That cascade from the clouds with rumbling;
And have been hot a long time
To behold the flitting of insects on the job,
The tickling and matting of perspiration
From the mid-August sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sting of mosquitoes,
In the feel of your own breath lingering.
Which is the feeling of all breath
That lingers during all seasons
Arising from the same living place
For the observer, who observes in the heat
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and nothing that is.
— April Resnick
(In the style of Wallace Stevens)
(For Alan and my Grandfather)











