Even the grand masters,
who paint most clearly their images of God,
must struggle with awkward hues
and brushstrokes that stumble forward blindly
as they seek to touch what this man has held:

eager warm mouths…
eager warm mouths and steaming bodies of new lambs
born upon cold earth…and into cold hands
that have waited… and will wait again… all night
to receive them...

New lambs: all too long legs which struggle to stand;
the vigorous movement of tails as first milk fills the belly.
First milk, first step, first dance: every leap leapt,
every blade of grass grasped and swallowed -
yet ground… and then reground… before its final return
to the deep folds of the rumen…

Ah, how grass ends…
how grass ends and lamb becomes!
flesh: feel it swell beneath fingers now embracing
loins as the lengthen,
briskets as they broaden;
caressing each crevice and meeting of muscle
as it fills with flavour:
flavour irresistible
as your fingers now crave only its overflowing.
Courage! All trembles with remembrance as the
great ancestral roar is released…

Where flesh yields willingly to flesh, there lies:
One Flock… One Sheepman…
Dying… Undying…

Triumphant.