I dreamed I was a hop plant in winter

I was rooted in the soil, frozen but awake, feeling every shift in the air like a tremor through my bones. The kid who runs the farm passed by in the dream—barefoot, humming—and didn’t see me. I wanted to say something, but my voice was just the creak of a single stem under ice. When I woke up, I found myself listening for the third sentence of any conversation, like it might be the one that matters.