I think by now it is time for the second cutting. br I imagine the field, the one above the last br br house we rented, has lain in convalescence br long enough. The hawk has taken back the air br br above new grass, and the doe again can hide br her young. I can tell you now I crossed br br that field, weeks before the first pass of the blade, br through grass and briars, fog — the night itself br br to my thighs, my skirt pulled up that high. br I came to what had been our house and stood outside. br br I saw her in it. She reminded me of me — br with her hair black and long as mine had been — br br as she moved in and then away from the sharp br frame the window made of the darkness. br br I confess that last house was the coldest br I kept. In it, I became formless as fog, crossing br br the walls, formless as your breath as it rose br from your mouth to disappear in the air above you. br br You see, aftermath is easier, opening br again the wound along its numb scar; it is the sentence br br spoken the second time — truer, perhaps, br with the blunt edge of a practiced tongue.