Alone in the field,
a man drives a spade into the dark earth and
heaves it open
so it gasps in soft exhalation.
What are you looking for? I ask.
The scent of wild allium rises, green
and sharp. The field is littered
with hulks the size of groundhogs,
as if some weird war has been waged.
Their backs are furred in turf and look
too much like bodies.