Black Mouse Surveys A Village Poem by Warren Falcon

...a
broken
gate.

One blind dog sleeps
curled.

Indifferent before all machinery
it moves only, curiously,
before burros gray,
their large eyes wet, shining;

the cooler shade and fields of hay
hang upon
the long lashes.

A redundant whip in a whipped boy's hand
loudly cracks.

Sway backs are unburdened by little cries
which simpler crickets take to heart,
their singing legs suddenly still to sighs.

This makes absolute sense
in some discreet window of
the world where Meaning knits
then unknits what is.