Sunday, November 23, 2008

Tame Ravens

Dim first light reveals a dead cottontail, frost on outstretched limbs. That tree which gazing East revealed a thin line of blue I imagined was the sea. Paul, David, John and me.

Cattle skulls were piled to mark the farm's northwest corner. Rain falling off the barn eaves was a dream. If I carry this rock that far what will you give me?

We are no longer a family farm. Most of the kittens died and we found their bodies, little felt pockets, on the driveway. But everybody else has a tire swing.

Little gnomes here and there. West was the possibility of big, like dinosaurs. All boundaries are measurable, knowable.

Not all smiles are reassuring or affectionate. Of all the rules, that was the one I learned best. Nobody knows much about Joseph.

Cast iron crosses, rosaries that when laid out were bigger than a small boy. The male mallard in sunlight is proof of God's love. Tomatoes as heavy as baseballs.

You can tame ravens, you can feed blind baby mice to your snake. Sunshine on my shoulders.

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