april 8 2013

finally hidden, feel so exposed in this muckend of a stream huddled near the edge of a field, one white clean vertebrae on the grass then own to the orange silt water humping out of ground, deeper more full and over rounding the top

a gasp a cry one black furred leg red end of bone not wet reminds us of our lamb deaths

probably dropped by a fox it lies alone on the edge of the orange mulch we move downstream to the stream meet and sit and talk our anguish at the raw deaths after our weeks of accepting bones and death we are alarmed and sickened and had no thought of sheep here – and after sitting c walked upstream on the Y and another gasp it is the other black wooled leg tossed openly – were they dropped because we arrived – did we disturb no they have been there longer than that but again this unnatural death these limbs paired away like  – is more sickening than the whole destroyed body and here where there are no sheep a fox or dog has dragged these lambs unattached and blast red marrow still maybe warm –

I have gone downstream through holly that scratched my scalp so much I regret having to go back but right now I am hidden from the faced houses that overlook this dimple water and yet I remember our sinking  in here our pleasure in the tiniest of waterways and where I am hanging on the bank close to white light water is a base to fly with I actually love this place – for our visit for our return and for my returning and my one ot two words that polish up and yet I feel colder than I remember in the frost

there is a peace born of the hidden out of sight, just,noises of all so close humans all around and in this tiny mossed bank I really can repeat the lying down into this tiny curve with its trickle of water the upside down reflected trees move it deep and on the wind breezes it my hair, the trees and an endles water sea carries me endlessly down – it has no edge I layer my vision seeing nearly as deep as bone this water layer after layer of skimming reflection and mind imagination i layer i layer myself in sheets of reflection each as porous and sliverlike as each other just this skin upon this skin but lensed into the deepest pools bone deep reflection spongy and filled and unfilled moving and disintegrating, sticking and sticking to each other like flake pastry too common a thought like sheets of eyelash thin ice that is not solid

a glider over and I rise up from lying down – a lying down where my mind wandered most unusual – a cover of bird bones discovered on the ground under our hands a delight a wish bone, and back through branches I catch my eye, a real jab and I cut my face right through my eye  and i feel liquid slowly draw down my nose it is blood, a blood tear sun so bright and feel the bright red out of the corner of my eye and with it the orange of the stream and the blood in the end of the bone I need to bleed to cover the stream yet in the sun and we crouch again like two tiny kneeling birds close close to the ground hips curved in and sun warms our backs and we return again and again our experience surprising us even a nettle sting to go with the cut

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