I
am a goat
ruminating
on field grass and dandelions.
My
teeth chomp, lips and bones
sliding
sideways
and
you can’t see worry in my eyes.
Good
thing for you my horns are hollow.
In
any case, they arch backwards
as
though confused about where I am going.
I
am a goat and it is my black hair
floating
in your tea, my hooves
not
yours, tracking dust and dung
across
the tapestry
you’ve
been weaving for eons.
I’d
give you milk and call it a day
but
even that has soured.
