I planted lettuce while the farmer plowed something.
There was a loud whirring. I put each leaf in the ground
and dumped old rainwater over them. I became filthy.
The dog found me and sniffed thoroughly. I let him.
Then the whirring stopped and the farmer went into the woods
with a small wooden pipe. The dog looked at me and became
frightened, and began barking as if I had offended him
in the darkest of ways. The bark was incriminating, ripe
with anger, tearful. He listed his troubles while I rocked
squatting on my feet. He barked until he was hoarse, until
I felt my eyes search the back of my head.
It was dark. I lay down in the lettuce. Where was the farmer?
I lay there until I began to bark, and I barked until I knew something.
I barked to a lower place, where the dog’s brown eyes closed
and together we entered a field of voices.