Goats in the Field

From stubble fields in autumn, you goats
are lights of late allure that float

in mist. You fade as night comes on.
You’re lost in whiteness and are gone.

When you bow down to the sun’s redness,
the killing stone, in readiness;

when you look at the Burning Bush’s flare
below the abandoned thoroughfare;

when a mild breeze through haulm can gash
a gold vermillion out of ash;

when sadness grows, by flames bereft;
when not a drop of cordial’s left

as the rowan’s bitter, the rosehip dry.

Project Details

  • Date June 23, 2015
  • Tags Goats in the Field