Between the House and the Hill

This boy lying face down in my sleep pushes around jars of jelly, waking me the night he is found so I can drag him from the wet ground and clean his blackened belly, this boy lying face down who is somehow bound to me, this hunted herdsman, refugee waking me the night he is found. Am I to dress him in an open gown, bless the holes in his chest with tea leaves? This boy lying face down, permeating even the simplest sound, with the crack in the door he slowly cries, waking me the night he is found, lips parted to my blue-black ground, whispering red vetch inside me, this slender boy lying down, waking me the night he is found.