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35 Pulling Up the Lawn Mushrooms My dreams fill with their fruiting bodies floating across the front yard— swathes of young, sublunar forms, some inchoate with age over papery lamellae, the empurpled, mottled gills. The spores leave black smudges on my fingers when I touch beneath their crepe-lined caps, so I pluck each growth by the stipe, cream-white and silky shining like a tether to another world. Do not think them weary in their slump; even the small ones lift long throats from the thatch and whisper a thousand assurances. ...

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