WEBVTT

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I've been working on
a sequence of poems.

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I'll read you some of
those a little bit later.

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In the course of which,
trying to write narrative,

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I'm not sure I know anymore
what a narrative poem is.

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But this one, I think, may be.

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This is the only one
that I think may be,

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and it's probably because it
draws on a story that I heard,

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and it's called "The Trust."

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Something was killing
sheep, but it was sheep

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this dog attended on the farm.

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A black-and-white border
collie, patrolling his fold

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like a parish priest.

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The second time
the neighbor came,

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claiming to have spotted
the dog at night--

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a crouched figure slithering
toward the pen on the far side

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of the county,
the farmer let him

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witness how the dog,
alert and steady,

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mended the frayed
edge of the flock.

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The clumped sheep calm
as they drifted together

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along the stony hill.

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But still more sheep across
the glen were slaughtered,

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and the man returned
more confident.

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This time, the master
called his dog forward,

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and stroking the eager
head, prised open

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the mouth to find wound around
the base of the back teeth--

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squat molars the paws
can't reach to clean--

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small coils of
wool, fine and stiff

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like threads from
his own jacket.

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So he took down the rifle
from the rack and shot the dog

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and buried him.

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His best companion in the
field for seven years.

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Once satisfied, the appetite
is never dulled again.

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Night after night its
sweet insistent promise

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drives the animal
under the rail fence

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and miles away for fresh
kill, and with guilty cunning

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brings him back to
his familiar charges,

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just now stirring
in the early light--

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brings him home to
his proud husbandry.

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