for my parents    
I came by breeding to the far meadow  		 
where sheep—as they will—milled, 
bewildered, ruminant and insatiable.   
My tender lambs strayed like thoughts 
across the thistled fields. I knew the names  
of each danger: howl and blizzard, fur and wire.   
I kept them at bay. I heard sounds in the night 
I could ignore, and silences I could not, 
close as they were.   
I rested on the ridge where I could see 		 
great distances and all wanderings, 
where I could run as if free,  
my lean body rinsed with clean air 	 
and the scent of flowers unattainable 
below. When the storm came  
there was more of everything—  
sky, harsh wind, a wildness in the eyes   
of those who needed me.