Fields with my Footprints

was that you I heard
by the curled crisps of corn
lighting fires
where fires would not catch
or was it always me
under the tree
sleepy from school
and the long day
with not much more than night
and misunderstanding
waiting by orange lamplight

you can crunch the corn
with black peppery eyes
scurrying mouse feet in the dark
my matches are dry
and the whiskey half empty
you might dare to talk to me
once you forget
that you only planned to listen