A Scent of Ribs
The silence of the lambs scares even the bats that lurk in the night
It mutes the eyes of those who before saw how once a lamb was skinned and bruised. I am a shepherd of lambs
Like the trees in the forest I spread my branches like a roof
When I sing to the lambs, my voice the harp of angels plucked by the Master. My body, the sky and the earth merged into the seas
My tongue, the wind stretching and swallowing sup of time
My mind, the ground burying every dead
My thighs, the warriors’ temples, giant as a bull and the horse of Troy.
A myth of constellation hands me a rod
Strong as a soldier’s gun and sharp as a bullet embeds into the skull
The flock knows my voice
The flock smells scent of my ribs
They will come and gather around
Hungry for a meal
And then, they will stay and feed.