Minding creatures keeps me honest.
I’d like to steal the time of mucking stalls,
Especially on cold, dark days.
Bothered, like a stubborn ass.
Then, fleeced and gloved
I am slipping into boots.
Out the door, winter wakes me
From my self-inflicted life.
To a deep black sea of stars.
I breath in the sharp, steel-blue night air.
Filtered of all my ideals,
Leaving me with just myself.
I am nothing more
Than everything before me.
The jangle of a rusted chain and clip,
The creak of a farm gate,
A mechanical wave, an oscillation of pressure
Stumbling in the dark.
I am a ghost in a clumsy, noisy machine
Almost drunk with desire,
To the deep,
Hoarse, breathy sound
Drawing out into a long moan.
See-sawing like an old rocking chair.
But, before my large muscles group,
Of shoveling soft, earthy, black turds,
And then pitching out mouth-fulls of sweet-smelling honey colored hay.
Before I become
Illuminated in the yellowed barn light,
Shoveling and pitching
I lean in, breathe in her dark, clay scent.
Feel the rough texture of coarse hair on sturdy, tall ears.
Steal a smooch of her baby-soft, warm snout.
I blindly finger her curious black lips, transliterating
Her whispered secrets
Wise beyond any language
I am the jack ass seeking pardon.
My devotion as self-reconciliation,
Stroking the long soft fur at her compliant breast.