Insistent baas
sheep pressed against the fence
the air a mix of sweet decay
manure and a strange springlike
fragrance of newly turned earth
breathing in sadness
I push open the feed room door
open bins and scoop up grain
to feed the living
the young injured llama tenderly nursed
these last ten weeks is buried
his grave a raw scar
on the weedy hill below the barnyard
the kind young man with a backhoe
came late in the afternoon to dig
he said “go in the house, I’ll take care of him”
he said he’d buried a bottle calf last spring
died in his arms… his old horse just last week
job done dirt smoothed alone
in the September evening I return
to the slow sad dance of tending
I feed muck out spread fresh straw
sheep underfoot surviving llama watching
no need to dress a wound
mix special grain…
I avoid the empty stall
the unavoidable absence.