November

i

This creature kneeling

dusted with snow, its teeth

grinding together, sound of old stones

at the bottom of a river

You lugged it to the barn

I held the lantern,

we leaned over it

as if it were being born.

ii

The sheep hangs upside down from the rope,

a long fruit covered with wool and rotting.

It waits for the dead wagon

to harvest it.

Mournful November

this is the image

you invent for me,

the dead sheep came out of your head, a legacy.

Kill what you can't save

what you can't eat throw out

what you can't throw out bury

What you can't bury give away

what you can't give away you must carry with you,

it is always heavier than you thought.