sound under the wheat mill.
dog thought more of it.
far field’s breeze brought us gingerbread.
“hope that’s home,” I said.
“ain’t home, it’s the house down the road.”
sniffin in the wheat field.
thought infinity of it.
cricket song is fadin out.
soon the moon gon’ turn around
“better leash him home.”
“see to it he don’t follow his nose.”
tuggin’ it out
talkin’ to hell from it
lifted the latch by the break
ain’t got it in him to lift his brow now
still be hungry after the time down
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