next time (for james)

next time
i hope i am a farm beast
born in hay
to callused hands.

with my legs under me
i stand in the grass
munching and sunning.

we lean into one another
side to side
our warm bodies
a sense of home.

sun, grass, hay, feed
hands, brush, stroke
morning, day, evening.

quietness in the dim
stars in the sky
ground below me
i trust in life.

and when my time comes
i wish to be held firm
by calloused hands
in love and death.

quick, quiet, firm
my flesh becomes nourishment
and i go back to god.