Sarah and Mike talked dogs with us
near the first gate that’s still open
to us for walks, and circling.
I made up the names, you just don’t
swap them with dog touchers,
each other’s pups.
The field full of stones in the middle
and also full of replacements like
vandalised gravestones, sheep cooing in
like guardians do, slip around so slow.
That field was cut by settlement, which
was disgusting to time,
All around the edge a rage rose up chalk
like spittle on the lips of a round head
or a middleman. High above the moat.
And outside the village,
new one and old one both,
a runway with more stones –
can you believe it – hove in.