the well

it called me.

speech of hooks.

shot once

into the air

and left the horse

to hang

in the barn.

goodbye

town that I know.

little black feathers

on little black ants

better

that this also be

goodbye.

I saw many things

wrong

as a child.

the way the living

not the dead

would turn.

the night

pared from the wall

a thin thing

over the thin mouth

of my sister.

I thought it all

a circus

sorrowed

but a circus

still.

now I watch

a barn

being raised

and want nothing

for the swallow

on my arm.

a human word

is rape

and human

to go

when called.

I was wrong

to take the knife

from the boy

in the well.

to think it

merely shyness

keeping him small

in that drawn

bucket.