oh the skein of raggle-taggle village dogs: trickly
tails, stubbly legs, tough teeth fletching at the fence

yours is the street, the dust on an asphalt hem
yours the resonant night in the dormant valley

every echo is yours, the shivering repercussion
of sound from the hills, hierarchic growling

and bellowing barking: at first herculean, then hu-
mongous. reverberations recall hens in the know:

whoever doesn't loudly drive his drivel gets mobbed
by the pack, in brushfire throats the place loses itself

so crying wolf you survey the cosmos of this depression
dominating every route, every stranger, and me:

yours is my scent trail, my brave steps
yours are my calves finally out of the village

Translated by Brian Currid