of the refrigerator motor
in the empty apartment at night.
But a stream
beside the trail
a bright pool
past the familiar
nettle field and
the now chic wild ramps
I had never heard of
before, her hands
small mammals
that love to dig
and garlic, steeply
down to the cooling
reservoir in
the afternoon,
noticed
the droning
cicadas.
No grief
in that
sound.
