A sheep is running in a field
after she dies. She is free
and joyous although her eyes
are still cloudy. As she runs
bits of her fall off a little at a time
onto the soil of the field catching
in the grass, in the thistle. She is
relieved? on time? A
pieced blanket floating
just above the surface pulsing
and then settled. Night comes
early. People in the houses look up
surprised. Where did the day go?
But they can’t argue. It’s gone.