You cannot prevent a visit from the Shearer. Strong
hands soft from lanolin.
You there. Locked inside your pen. You know sodden
slop. You know governed by. And unwise to continue.
You know welt. Crust. Flood. And standing
in water, thirsty.
The Shearer comes before the shorn. Naked
implies vulnerability. By which future
shadows might feel rough on your new
skin. There will come
a time when the Shearer is done.
And here, bleating sometimes bleeding
into the nearby alfalfa
field, ewe, run.
I love how the Shearer means so many things in this.
Ahh. Keep going!