The day after, safe at home except for the winds
except the winds out walking and home, surrounding
the home safe. Through the water glass there is a
circle of light, a gyre. The trees become spiral
a design in the the glass and the water.
Where is the killing Amanita? A deer in the fold
in the nettles and the waves of pollen and seeds.
A blast rattles the Tyvek homewrap tarp. A blast
of wind shakes it up and a crow caws wrestling
in the air in heavy air, tree air. The deer
disappears in the grass. We call it the sea of
grass, a “front yard.” The animal disappears beyond
the pump, beyond the charcoal burn. The deer lays
down. We had a snuggle, an oxytocin nap on the
“foretaste of death” couch. On the thinking couch.
The food was beautiful It hits you, fucking cold,
you can almost just see in the hazy distance. “That
Amanita is edible” he says, “I’m not going to eat
it” I say; “I’m not going to eat it,” he says.
Something hits you, and the people all fall
down. The air is wavy but not from heat. An animal
disappears in the grass. We eventually meet up
again for dinner. I’ve been working all day and
The wind has been burning in the front yard.