Leaning on the air
Great wings spread
Out like a quilt
Spread across the bed
Soaring unseen currents
Feeling the unguided medium
Tricking Zephyr to spill his secrets
From white feather peer
Sharp focused golden orbs
Tracking the sheep-spotted slopes below
Groundbound they never look up
They don’t have this ache
Nor This longing
They won’t feel at all
Until the talons pierce flesh
But then it’s already too late
loping along through the brush looking for lunch (ostensibly. layer 1) lone wolf tells himself, even largely believes, he’s running towards. doesn’t need those others. he’s chasing something, to be sure.
sheep put self aside smooshed together they stride for the good of the flock they’ll agree, and mock the wolfs hunger, which isn’t about his belly
they are at peace, in a way, wolf and sheep but me? no. i’m too smart for that and not dumb enough.
let me imagine a diagram to simplify complexity. though it will also complicate simplicity this is the human balance.
so i take these colored threads in hand nimble fingers deft, invoke the warp, and the weft and each shuttle past is a breath until that’s all i have left
the wolf will lie the sheep will die
the pyramid becomes a bullseye my arrow knows and longs for gold my wolf thinks he holds the bow my sheep thinks he is the bow my human thinks he is the arrow and leaps from the bow but no
ancient bigotry caught in amber
where was that prompt of rain?
her bones will tell the tale
of the time she ‘fell down the stair’
little inky marks in a diary
a low place on the island mountainside
harboring windclipped trees and sheep
a pool of green among the stones