july 28

the sheep retramp
the dried pond
I sit on the lead tank and slopping my bag down my eye is caught by a rib in the mud.
i sit on the edge of the stream uprising – source – all there is now is green grass living in a circle edged by skulls, last time two, now four all being uncovered by dryness so skulls go many feet down, and a new skeleton has been pulled in, by animal, human, weather?
the sheep themselves trample and retrample the empty pond, hooves and mess everywhere easy to walk among their own dead as it all slowly enters the ground
and the willow leaves are the ‘cake’ topping, holding a canopy
these are facts not poetry but I am drawn to lie down now in the source
so I did
and C traversed all the beams of the low cathedral accompanied by plane and branch break
we both entered the pool
I looked up and in the cloud sky a blue opening appeared – source below and above – open layers momentarily then on
I miss the water low and languid as it was these branches need their self reflection like myself – is there anything more than the real experience
i have wet patches, muck, smell on me and now a sheeps chorus!

I walk down the empty stream feel softness under my steps, pooh everywhere
twigs branches sticks
I sit on a tree that has 2 holes of where a pelvis bones should be so I am wearing an outer skeleton as i nestle back is it like a snail or some coated beast shell outwards holding my aching self self
I like the idea nature my outer shell do I have to make anything more?

Here lay a dead lamb water worshipped where my feet stand now every place in earth has received death over and over
have I forgotten this
I look down at the bluish earth and remember the lamb untouched but lying there in the pouring water and I remember the film of this
its a gratitude and a sadness for the invisibility of things except in the layers of my being all these paper thin versions of the same foot of stream deepening the shelves of experience I think I’ve got to stop using the word ‘hold’ and often move deeper, then flow, then let go, leave it in the cells of my history

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