David Appelbaum: Herding toward the ark

White sheep in the trees

blown by heavy rains

white fleece in the belly of the hill.

All day I stir barley

in an iron pot by the stove

while rain drips in.

It is steady, hooves

on the bridge to the fold.

The bucket's full

but they keep on coming,

pearls dropping to the bottom,

white tails down to the bottom of the sea,

I want to see the ewes lie on the dry hay.

By night it is different.

The sheep have their barley breath

& don't want my eyes on them.

In the dark we are not the same.

They know I keep a gun.

Death moves quietly in the barn.

There is the stream

that runs under

& black trees stirred to the roots

by the stove-cold air. I

would only stay long enough

to fill my pot. Long enough to see

the white wool rise with the rain.

David Appelbaum's latest collection of poems, The Sawn Bench, was published by Mellen Press in 1993. He works and lives in New Paltz, New York.

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated Jul 1995
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