we sat holding the lamb
we sat holding the lamb
Richard and I
the field soft about us
cold coming on below the ash trees
and the farm buildings
silent as flint through the arrow slits
how slight it was
and how meagre the pull
of its miniature mouth on my finger
a smear of birth blood
faint tap
of a heart in my palm
steel wool skin
over a bag of bones
light as a thing I could fold in one arm
swinging
home across the Downs
small drama at evening
though drama still
the sodden grass
fluorescent, longbow air
drawn taut
and the chance
a tender weighing