where the sheep are where

Fishheads sprinkling the field like candy. Cattails tattling on the fish, their exhalations ring against poppy-roots. Here come your footsteps, trying not to be oafish, silhouettes sheared of sledgehammers. Meaning: they have nothing to say. Meaning: if you need help make it perfectly clear. If only the soft swishing of rice was a salve. You know you could put the moon in your bowl and spoon it with raspberry compote, but something up there tattoos star-shaped blisters into the back of your hand. And maybe no blood would be able to reach your finger-tips. So, keep your hands at your sides. Let the carp swallow moons and nibble your toes. Keep your pants rolled up.