my head near his
as if joined at the neck
swung from some clumsy history
in hiding. How enmity
between beast and man
slept where I would pet!
Conflagrations buried in
the nubs of his horns
soon would have the error of matches
when they flared
and he would blindly swing his head,
our hearts filled with
the pastures with all their polish.
Our weak trembling knees
found ecstasy in the hard ground,
in green sprigs mighty to the muzzle,
the dullest knowledge striking us
as sky baring its blue
gracious face that first time.
These were days before the itch,
when we were not given
to pawing dirt,
to the terror of our stompings,
when he was calm, clueless he’d be
the renegade of fences,
and I was mute as unbroken stone,
and together we were
the monster of sweet longing.