The watch-fires receded.
The angle of the sky was a murmur.
You went outside and shot a pig.
Here, now, I have no blood
or water from the river.
I hold my hand up to the sky
You have God in your pants-pocket
and an animal skin.
The lamp is lit and dreaming,
the corn is burning in the barn,
my mouth is dust and star-stuff.
I couldn’t call you home.