Farm Shadow

July 11, 2015 - Poetry

The day the shadow
came, the rabbit froze.
We found the tiny body
like an ice-cream cake,
waiting.

The shadow blight
spread like pollen on the legs
and wings of black bees;
touching, filling, infecting
matter.

With green rot in its green
gut, the shadow fell
like silk on the farm.
The chickens flipped
like pancakes on Sunday,
mourning.

The hands wrought
in shadow from light
to wake the brown cows
who slept the way people
do without black
coffee.

Steady as a broken heart,
the shadow flits on memory
until the fish inside swim
up the cold pebble path
back to the barn,
burning.

The shadow left when the rabbit
thawed in the noon darkness,
and the wild fish drowned
in the wake of warm cow
pollen.

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