1
-2
-3
-4
-5
-6
-7
-8
-9
-10
-11
-12
-13
Footstepssoon I will killmy ram who sniffs and nibbles my shirt sleeve while I fill the last crib hay in the soggy field his horns curl back behind black ears that twitch at the sound of my approaching boots |
Return --
Next
Issue #18, December, 2000 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.