There was a clearing of yellow grass where a deer ran.
The air was still, and I remember the loudness of my pack's zipper
when I opened it for cloth and bread and a knife.
A blind of leaves hung from the apple tree. And then, when I looked up
to the other side of the meadow
I saw my dead one, my unborn, wearing her dark swamp hair
wave to me from a place on the grass. I did not know
she had gone there with me and that she would be beside me forever,
as she is now, like an animal, wanting back inside the house.