Goat on a Pile of Scrap Lumber
He lowers his head like a fur-covered anvil
as if he knows all things in the world change.
His eyes are bisected by a horizon line of yellow light.
You’re wondering what might happen if you move closer.
There’s a language we speak to ourselves and one we use for others.
I told you, he’s lowered his head.
Nevertheless, you can see for yourself he’s chewing.
What he swallows becomes his rumination.
I too was attracted to someone I did not understand.
With each other we were bestial, that’s not too strong a word.
Although at first, at first, when our foreheads touched, we were curious.
For Judy and Joe Powell
Originally published in The Atlantic, March 2018. Copyright © 2018 Michael Collier. Used with permission of the author.