The Brigadoon

A poem

Brume smears across the rugged backs of the seven bison

Berthed like massive boats at the outskirts of their burrow

Icons within the grassy basin

Hooves heavy and halted in the rich cake of chestnut earth

Dizzy as a tortured compass aghast

To tread the north an offish death

Fade’s pitch may filch their pelage

As feeding ghosts

A heist for wool robes within a waning world

The hide aware I will follow the shape of their horns and mourn as a giant in the brigadoon

A proper mammal on fire and refusing peace

Sprightly in season when the sun passes away

Leaving nothing but sounds of birds sneezing cursed thoughts in moon-fog

Knowing a herd cannot let wolves into gentle rooms as these