I can’t not milk the sheep, they’re milking sheep

Casually                     an acorn
births into the half-light
out of a ewe's pursed anus


                Skids across the parlor floor

October 7th
6 a.m.
        Through the window
leaves emulsify

                in the horizontal loin of
daybreak


                        A horticultural blue
                        awakens

Hurls the shape of an oak tree
                                at an oak tree

        Horse flies pendulum
above a shit pile

                I hear the horse flies, I smell the shit pile

In that order

        It's okay, I tell them

Be easy --

        wildflowers grow rampant

                in the throats of
opera singers