Homesteading
A sleeping sow rolls over one of her piglets
it squeals, the drama is quickly doused
by guttering shades of drowsiness.
Eyes unglue behind their windows.
The goats are stumbling off their knees
instinctively looking for a hill to climb.
A clock in my head stops ticking,
it opens its face, summoning me
to the fields,
where there is nothing to look upon,
until a dawning sun eats the night.
I turn to feed drooling mouths,
beasts that stare back at me now
in their daylight dreams.
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