from vii. flock master

We work in tandem days and nights,
walking a shepherd’s trance,
straining to keep the lambs alive.

Frae their first braith
they ar tryin fir their hinmaist.

He gives me a lamb to save;
advice, bottle, rubber teat.

Drip drip of milk, long hours
into the tiny mouth, motherless,
blanket-wrapped by the stove door.

This bleating life-bundle
has to survive —

for the old man, for itself,
for me.