Field Work

Our feet, the first time, padding into the field Amongst dew and worm-casts and grass-tips rubbing Our unshod and sodden uncertainty With delicious wet tongues of green on our toes The first time, padding into the field - The second time, it was easy, brighter and drier, The sun degrees higher, the way now plain And the third time, a noontime bored stupid by heat, The prickle of barbs, of dry twigs, of insects On bare feet, the last time, the end of my fieldwork.