Saturday, December 1, 2012

The Goat


I am suddenly as lonely as a goat
goading the cliff with two old twisted bones
his horns all
weathered
and white.

And the rock rises to greet me
an old friend
recalcitrant
hoof against flint like two
palms
clapping
loudly
at nothing.

The sky yawns
politely
white hand over blue
blue mouth.