you would know this

between brassica-weeding and lunch bell,
twenty minutes of yoga with jason
neglected mat rolled out
body uncoiling


lunch on the porch
emory leaning into my knee asks
how many cookies
(tylers GF nut butter w/ chocolate chips)
i took and then whispers
with raised eyebrows i ate three


paper pot tutorial in upstairs karma
as the onslaught of rain
blurs window-vision
(nothing but green [grass, tree buds] and gray [wall of rain])
augmented by hail and
leaks spouting along the central beam


those are gerunds trish says
computer print-outs before us
we decipher past from present
for the final pages of her
st. louis zine


between brassica reading and dinner bell
ten minutes of reading
angela davis’s autobiography in my hands


if you could see the view from here
you would know this:
late light (almost setting but not quite)
illuminating the rolling-hill valley (branch of the fabius river)
how water glints back (field puddles, perhaps creeks)
and all that light passing through spring growth
in rays from the edge of a stormcloud
as if someone plugged the trees in
their green illuminated


down along the rock road curves
hank hunts two prizes:
1: a deer skull from the goode’s land, antlers intact
2: a flat/leathered/rotted raccoon


darien, mica and i reach down and do the chigger rub
to squash any tiny bugs that might have
crawled up onto our ankles/calves
after exploring the fallen in root cellar/bomb shelter
and checking out the shed-stored combine


the goode’s cows
moving with us along the fenceline
as sun sinks
something about the thunder they make
when they pick up speed moving as a group
(mob mentality)

for a while it’s just us and them standing staring
(us: three humans, two dogs – one which looks like a mini cow
and is especially captivating to the herd
them: at least 300 cows, not full grown but not baby-babys
perhaps a half a year old
perhaps two years old)
us, greeted with the sound of their breathing
after bounding alongside us
soft and steady magic/soothing

we notice the boldness of the one ear-tagged #253
(how she follows close to the fence)
she should have a name i say about her
#253, sounds like an ayn rand character
says darien
ayn rand it is


mica on ground level (bed)
while i perch in the loft (makeshift bed)
head hanging over
we talk this way for a while
granola the cat migrates up/down
the stairs between us


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