baby in the crib, turns closed eyes into dream-light
young boy at the window, eyes on the calf
woman with the cow, flies milling around the eyes


1.
every morning, with a penchant for rising before his hour
           he stands, sees the calf at the wooden-fence
           watches with the fawn-coloured beauty of sea-shell heartbeat..
                              the rising-eye
while his sister, nearly a young-woman, washes dishes with eyeballs
                              out the tiny-window
           heifer passes by and he looks straight into eyes – gentle eyes –
                              soothes calamity

2.
in the cold morning on the farmstead, the baby curls in its warm-folds
     she chases off the flies from the horns
     and cleans gummed-openings
yet deity’s crown falls from splendour this day
      as moments devoured by need eventually bear witness
to warm dripping in the sand
the bowl is filled

                                           *(high-scale horror)

and the boy has seen it, too
he holds his arms round him to stop the wholesale-shaking.. bites down hard
     as his face contorts baleful.. in impotent-anger
     his silence bought decades ago.. in another life
no price on his shock
and the bird on the branch flies off.. glint-eyes on another branch

it’s that time once again: she takes the old-cow to town
they await her before nightfall
she never does return


3.
I’m begging you
        leave it be, this is how it is
go pick up the baby, please
(the baby won’t stop crying)




your fences, I’ll rip up your fences with your very own whip
while them wolves howl on and on
I got oppressive-time to suffer your unmatched-law in the crush-of-daylight
now, kindly.. get outta my face!







S T – 22 Jan 2014