Herds of Darkness
I went to the Kitagami Valley searching for a herd of darkness.
It would please me to be attached to a visible wheel, to become some pond-scum pest.
A gorgeous dug-out acacia absorbed giraffe-branched moonlight.
I can talk to my shirt, in the woodsmoke of plaid, and still fear the quaking Indiana dust.
We opened the owl and found tiny bismuthic seeds.
All that labor was embarrassing when we neglected our names beneath a granular sky.
All right, I have heard of that enormous hole we create with constant want.
Still, isn’t our desire partially fueled by two hundred bundles of thawing mist?
The terrible pathway somehow exposed the highs and lows of living in this valley or that.
The herds of darkness attached their evening selves to us. Time and again they trampled loose the stiff givings of the chest.