PASTORAL

On the country roads outside Beijing

you’re sure to spot sheep

scattered over fields, like unmelted snow

or swollen blooms burst open.

They cross the road in clumps,

the herdsman barking them down

a weedy ditch, tripping and tumbling

through the dust.

I never paid much attention

until one afternoon

in flurries of snow

I nosed close behind a sheep truck,

the dark eyes gazing down

gentle and quiet, not knowing

where they were headed.

They turned toward me then,

curious as children.

I let the car drift back

through the thickening curtain of snow

and watched them disappear.