We reach deep into the humus
beneath crumbling layers of leaves
unearth the pale fleshy fungi, as an
anthropologist might unearth bones:
slowly and with infinite care.
We lift only the fruiting body, cap still
closed and veiled like the fist of the brain,
gilled like ancient fishes, delicate
as leaf vein, rich with life.
This is how it is, how we are
in the world, like all things, progeny
of sun and water, decay, the continuous
cycle of birth and death, of carbon, of time,
evolution; essential, fragile and edible
growing from the dark ground of all being,
soil and soul: our hands, those bones,