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The Paddock Beside the Dairy
A bloodied sheep bag hangs over our back yard.
My brother and I discover cities in the dirt.
We crawl deep inside the branches of a cypress plantation
but fail to escape the beat of the dairy’s engine.
Summer nights are cornered by listening
to cars on a road two miles away.
The fences I repair with memory
hum like voices from another country.
Two cockatoos screech above the sewage reservoirs
pumpkins thrive, stories overflow
into the view I framed from the pit—
a troubled stare over the bony ridges of cows.
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