onion grass dinner

feasting on the sharp wild,
we became boys in October's blue dusk.
held the chill like a drum &
beat with the wing-talk of birds.
stole spoons to harvest onion grass.
those white troll eyes. our translucent hunger.
i wanted to forage for new fingers.
find myself alive. stars arriving early
to glimpse us. in between fields
the foxes returned their bodies 
to their maker. a woman who lives
between corn stalks. no one knows
where she goes come harvest time.
once, i found her in the basement,
hands full of pelts. she put a finger
to her mouth & said, "hush."
i brought her onion grass bulbs
as an offering. how did you
invent your gods? peeling open
a single wild onion to find
the eye of a rabbit. blinking &
finally unfearful. the world 
is a process of return. i hope
my legs are inherited by tree bark.
thumbs, in the torsos of blue carrots.
would my eye fit inside 
the wild onion? smell of pocketknives
& perfect daylight. prying back layer
after layer to find the next illusion.
we didn't mean to eat only the onion grass
but it made us green enough 
to last through winter's
lengthening dark. 

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