Blacklegs

The sheep has nipples, the boy said,

And fur all around. The sheep

Has black legs, his name is Blacklegs,

And a cry like breaking glass.

The glass is broken. The glass

Is broken, and the milk falls down.

The bee has a suffering softness,

The boy said, a ring of fur,

Like a ring of fire. He burns

The flowers he enters, the way

The rain burns the grass. The bee

Has six legs, six strong legs,

And when he flies, the legs

Whistle like a blade of grass

Brought to the lips and blown.

The boy said, The horse runs hard

As sorrow, or a storm, or a man

With a stolen purse in his shirt.

The horse’s legs are a hundred

Or more, too many to count,

And he holds a moon white as fleece

In his mouth, cups it like water

So it will not spill out.

And the boy said this. I am a boy

And a man. My legs are two,

And they shine black as the arrows

That drop down on my throat

And my chest to draw out the blood

The bright animals feed on,

Those with wings, those without,

The ghosts of the heart—whose

Hunger is a dress for my song.