I

"I’m thinking how much I enjoy lying in the grass like this and looking up at the sky.” two thousand little spires turned on their sides compose to make a bed, and I lie like a cow dreaming of rain. at our feet (the ones we use to bruise the lawn like blackberries) the discard of the afternoon: two pair of shoes, two apple cores tonight: that fruit to flesh fastforward and that flesh to ash spread ceremoniously in the vegetable garden. Some days I pretend to crave the dark-chocolate ground. I get the sense that farther down the soil is damp and cool, If only I could lie down a while, and let this fever break. But not today; I am still here under the cooler Elm. And I am still in love with the persistent, subtle itch of grass on my legs.