Our bones will touch in the water one day after the supernova, or maybe it’ll be an Electromagnetic Pulse we bought the old Volvo to outsmart— we escaped the need for computers to govern coffee makers, and made our own kombucha— but one by one the streaked coyotes, wimpled foxes picked off the rooster and our stupid hens. A cascade of tiny choices to occasion an implosion. The mushroom log left wildly fruiting in the hand-hewn springhouse afternoon.
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