Four full sheep in her mind I suppose,
little lambs with dirty brown coats
trailing her along that fence of wire,
renters there in that little field
where Development will one day evict.
But for now they live and breathe my fumes.
A home aside Heidi’s mountain but dreamed,
no pastoral path to summer home,
no warm winter refuge.
Just this.
Do these four curse the Season clock
of their mother’s desire, Womb
that dropped them to this city meadow?
Or,
is it just to live,
to know a gentle, familial peace,
the comfort of mother's milk,
the green of the grass.
What do they know
that I have forgotten?
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