Only recently he had taken to killing ants as he came upon them and of course the more he killed the more came. And this business of killing ants was enough to fill the morning, and the space of the morning, for a time
And recently now was he aware of a thought held past the first light on things, the morning light on the window sill and the warmth on a sleeping eyelid, and this warmed into nothing ordered or preferred or developed so much as a blank stare, a glance forever exhausted upon the business of a filthy home and this march of time and ants alike
And yet recently had he vaguely remembered a last chance, or a choice, or a suggestion of any kind, a thought or notion of why ants came here or what they might find here and how even they, it seemed, might just be passing through
And he lingered there and still ultimately missed this point, and upon others remembered he both missed andsupplied this point, and he unplugged the answering machine because even as all this confounded him, he still missed nothing so much as the sound of nobody home
Even if he could never supply the act outright, this solution of nobody home.