' ' ' ' Counting Sheep(For Lyn) Poem by Dónall Dempsey

The sky
takes a cloud & shapes

it in to
spare ribs

and then again
into a five

(for all of five
minutes)

five barred gate

beyond which lie
the fields of Heaven.

Then the sky
busy as a buzzy bee

forms & unforms
a flock of fleecy sheep

each a bit fuzzier
than the last

that bleat & leap
over it.

I wondering what it will
next create

but I can't possibly guess
as I have fallen slowly slowly

into
sleep.