The pianissimo roll begins, leaves rustling

in the stillness of a late, lazy afternoon, builds

until ferns and firs, oaks and locusts hum.

Upturned in the sand, a horseshoe
crab flails the air, its curved carapace
formed more than 400 million years

What’s heaven like? Mama asked three weeks
before she died. She was sitting
on a red couch, frail, her eyes closed.