“e quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle” —Dante Alighieri, 34th Canto, La Divina Commedia A tiny thing, a particle, a protein anointed in oil,
It looks soft nosing through the clover and I’m happy to have it here or if
I. She has drunk hemlock all winter, intimacy with earth. Ponderous, slow-footed, she rises, black magma, a boulder rolled onto these fields: quill pig,
All his life, he’s galloped at the center of the herd, pressed and protected by jolting bodies as they swept across the veldt like