through fields we flew

Through fields we flew, picked and drug up

potatoes scattered on the sides of the roads

hawks, stalking fields in the summer-

we mice hidden in fear of claws and beaks.

Ancient brick yards,

battered grainery keys-unlocking short fortunes ,

apples in the darkest spaces of the barn, rolling .

Orchard gruff, muddy and bare

In the evenings the winds howl through the diseased horse chestnut trees of the road-deeply blighted moans

and somewhere in the window across the overgrown Village Square, lights will twinkle & fade, bouncing

off the fallen dormitories-trees growing up from between the collapsed floor boards and rooftops

from beneath my early footfalls

Sometimes the sheep will gather in the empty moat-

collecting thistles on their thick wool we would hear the sloshing of an ancient chord, a harmony of water that ran up hill sunk carp in its depths-ate trees in the midst with one giant gulp.

In the forests the sheep would wander and cut through the mossy crumbled walls of the old fortress we'd smell the decay and watch the moss bury the trees

we'd choke on old bottles, trip on china plates

that emerged from the ground in our pathssss

In summer, light would filter in through the treetops and criss-cross lines of reason, it pushed the grass to

grow past our knees and knettles to claim our shins,

we would limp in and out trying to tie and rebuckle

our shoes.

I'm tyring to get back each memory of creening through

Radostovice into the bull pen, into the fields with the fawns…