icefall: small like rain, chance of freezing 98%
tiny pebbles a would be
lover throws at the window--
mice in sawdust
their narrow nose their minute
eyes--
ice ticks in its own way
in the morning too dark
to be morning at all it’s still
night there’s still time to pass
into sleep there’s still time
to hold the dumb lamb
in the dark and bore her nose
her mouth pull the sheath
of veins away and throw it
like a memory on the burn pile.
Her mother had turned
away from her even before she
was born her body stopped
shuddering and the lamb
was trapped in half
way worlds womb and clean
blue air--a fire I pet into her
mouth and nose into the scum
of mucous-caul. I hug her up
to the house remembering
how her mother nosed
her udder without a sound
tugged at what she could
with her tongue and the ice
of the night all the tiny eyes
buried in the fur and burned
my bare hands my bare
and bloody hands and the lamb
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