Sheep
A cruck of moon across the village. A half-cut sky.
The farmer is driving her sheep through the lane, grub-tight,
in the hinged-light of an open grave.
The Court Meadow is empty but soon ewes and lambs
will pair up for the evening. Their bleats blur with the sounds
of dog and a murder of crows.
The verges are lined with ghosts. The day’s hot breath has gone.
Sheep are shielded from gateways; jaws slack as middle-aged women.
And night presses down firm as flesh; sounds of settling as day recedes.
Silence hushes the polished sky, save for the bleating of desperate sheep.
Jenny Hope is a Worcestershire based writer. Her poetry collection, Petrolhead, was published in 2010 by Oversteps books. www.overstepsbooks.com. Her website is www.poetrymaker.co.uk.