This is a poem I write about my stay at La Ville au Roi,
NIGHT IN THE SHEEP HOUSE
First night in the sheep house
candle blown out,
I lie awake listening
to the walls
making no sound.
Animal antecedents are
embedded in this stone.
I feel them breathe, bellow,
stamp and scrape
the rock floor.
Birth, death and living
surround me here,
holding me wakeful;
alert in the power
of total blackness.
Beyond its walls
woodlands spread away
generating ever deeper
darkness of canopy,
field and thicket.
Creeping out, only my steps
break the silence.
Above is brightness;
a black bowl of stars are
threaded on imaginary chains.
Loops of light years apart;
planets far more ancient
than sheep house walls,
are patterns to my eye,
symbols in my mind,
lanterns for my soul.
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