Wednesday, May 18, 2011

A Scent of Ribs

The silence of the lambs scares even the bats that lurk in the night
It mutes the eyes of those who before saw how once a lamb was skinned and bruised

I am a shepherd of lambs
Like the trees in the forest I spread my branches like a roof

When I sing to the lambs, my voice the harp of angels plucked by the Master
My body, the sky and the earth merged into the seas

My tongue, the wind stretching and swallowing sup of time
My mind, the ground burying every dead

My thighs, the warriors’ temples giant as a bull and the horse of Troy.
A myth of constellation hands me a rod

Strong   as a soldier’s gun and sharp as a bullet embeds into the skull
The flock knows my voice

The flock smells scent of my ribs
They will come and gather around 

Hungry for a meal
And then, they will stay and feed.

 rosalinda flores,

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