Tell Me Your Name

There is a stranger 

you would be glad you had met, 

quite quiet though never so much silent

(the occasional short, sharp pitch just in hearing, just before the angles turn)

yielding questions (you hadn’t asked), echos– 

receiving your words (though not your voice), querulous pricks– 

not quite distracting (passing) motes, straying anecdotes–

up the broad slope, from down across the tussocked rolling,

barks and yips jump over the crisp delay– not near nips, nor hooves half-heartedly hurrying;

across that distance, the taut border (energetic black and blot) scribes from pips to stay

a whistled wandering (not touching, yet) skeins the stolid grumbles, such fibrous ruminants; 

a tight taunting (nigh harsh, but) tumbles an arc of gregarious contradictions and cuds; 

a tremulous woof (steady, back) cinches disaggregated wooliness– silence, shuffling, shear. 

He might meet you. 

Star-dark outside. Over the pitiful protecting stream. Huddled, readied, 

with just your skinny teeth– if less half (or both), but still your muttony urgency.

(night noises like nips cease, signals seamed irregularly– silence slowly stretches into sudden)

Coward, beggared, white-knuckled; 

indignance overwhelmed, unbreakable grasp. Pinioned

by wonder, smitten under quarrel, lingering limp, shouldered home on his high bright lyric.