from " Haruspicating on Valley --View Farm
SACRIFICE OF MY PET LAMB
I broke from the womb of my mother and ran up the early years
Until on the cliffs of seven, with the gospel of senses scrying
The sun-flooded woodlands and valley, I came with confusion of tears
Under three black hawks to my pet, my baby-warm bottle lamb, dying.
He was torn with claws of his hanging, talons ripping the soft wreck
Of his body anointed with blood. I found his eyelids sinking
On curious sleep. Oh, then I awoke! I fell on his neck
And confounded the bleeding rose of my early innocence, shrinking.
I ran from his claw-slit belly; I ran from the pinkest prime
Incredible entrails dragged in the dust of the limestone cliff.
I cried the nudge of his young bleats, puffing his sides at night time,
I ran to his tenderness once; now I left him, awkward and stiff.
I ran from the tree and shade of the juniper boughs where he lay;
I ran from the three dark wings, still trapped in the shades of stones,
And I lay in the leaves of the earth for a blasphemous long Sunday.
At last, when I saw him again, it was only to bury his bones.
I dug an abstraction of grave in erosions of one small head
And let that late wooly angel down while some ghost said, bow!
And still I am wandering home, young seer gone blind in those dead
Miseries, crying, "God, God, where are Your mercies now?"