Woodlands Farm

Oh, how I swagger, full-bellied and
sleek in the meadow.
Life is good, sends hens and sunlight.
Strange geometries
give gifts of lunch.
Who needs to hunt
with such bounty close at hand?
If my thoughts reached
to the abstract,
this is perfection.
As it is, my belly's
full. The wind tickles my fur.

If my thoughts reached
to the abstract,
the world has slipped awry.
Running...
The earth strikes too hard
against my rebelling leg.
The hens are guarded now.
If my thoughts reached
to the abstract,
I’m on the slippery slope.

Need to move on.
Need to sleep
in the close grip
of a dark den.

If my thoughts reached
to the abstract,
I would recognize
the impossible.
As it is, I leap.
I fall.
I cannot breathe.
If my thoughts reached
to the abstract,
I am about to die.
As it is I find
the needed dark.