(for Frank
Ritcey)
Fastened to the
ledges
with nothing at all,
the rams come to the
grass
windswept and
willing
for thunder and bone
There on the proving
grounds,
a calculated
hierarchy
of seed and fury,
the world bends,
tilted and heaved
under the ecstasy of
thrusts
You captured the essence of the rut beautifully. I am always amazed at how your posts and the natural calendar are so entwined. Nature BC should have a poet laureate and it should be you.
ReplyDeletethanks for your kind words, Frank.
ReplyDelete