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

and smile.

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.