Stunning work by a local poet and educator, Kevin Blankinship. Enjoy~
A flash somewhere, then suddenly
ponds that sprout starflower and shrub,
jasmine and beard lichen, spreading white fingers.
Rustling—here comes a net of curved horns
criss-crossing against each other, sturdy,
brown scythes moving slow.
The herd stops and looks. Now the world
is calm. See—no steps. Only the wind
pushing a branch caught on another branch.
And then soft screams. They rise from
little mouths wet with mucus and tears.
The wild goats weep like a drone of hornets.
There—on the ground between grasses
and hooves, there spreads another pond.
Crimson, carmine, precious. Red sulphur
painting the dull rocks till they shine
like gold. Skinny legs set at hard
right angles, piled up unnaturally still.
Tan yellow fur ripped from skin
by a canine tooth and jaw—it dusts
the stone like fresh fallen snow.
Then, up the plain comes
the howling of hounds…
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