for Michael
on the eve of spring
we heard a lone lamb weep
in the middle of the front field
where two thorn trees stand
she had no mother and no father
I held the dog while you jumped the fence
and walked across the dust eaten stabs
of what had once been grass
she did not run
in your arms she was smaller
than our small black cat
you carried her toward me
her heart a hummingbird
she did not cry but warmed herself
against you while with my fingers
I said as her umbilical cord
wrote itself into the air
thank you for your life
now live it and you carried her
back to where the mothers
with swollen udders gathered
in the low dip between the hills
asking for food for water