“I PUNCTURE the backyard, dig holes. I sit on the edge of a large one, dangle my legs, feed it with a stone, shout into the shadow below and savor the echo. Or I lie down beside a smaller one, reach down to the bottom, stir the earth to release its scent. I stand on the porch and try to count them all, but lose track as I stop at each and reminisce, remember every shovel full of dirt, every swing of the pick axe.”