into the barnyard dark, probing
out curves like a dentist digging
down into decay, working
up the other side of the valley, gears cathunk, moan
exhaust pop, pebbles and stone spit, scatter
away from the corners like the last vanishing
specks of water on a hot iron griddle.
Yellow frightful eyes blink
from the undergrowth, tiny brown hearts hammer
in the night, strange dreams of barn owl swoopings,
horrible white flash from above
and talon in your guts and then that’s it.  
Stay quiet little shrew, sleep.

The hill itself – the road cut
straight down the middle like the monstrous
slit up belly of a beached
blue whale where out spills
the gaseous geysers,
the machinations of industry,
the useless net-tangled innards,
the shrink-wrapped heart, giant
and steaming, but still. 

And us – the fisherman’s knife
dragged like a hoe through clay –
lifted up, away
into darkness, again.