Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.
i want to write a story about a sheep
whose fleece was made of the night sky
whose eyes held the light of the moon
who sang the song of the rivers
the sheep whose legs were like tree trunks
all rough bark and brown vitality
whose ears heard every birdsong.
i want to write a story about a sheep
whose flesh was composed by our sun
whose tongue was made of silver and gold
whose nose knew every blossom that graced our earth
whose belly never hungered, for the world had provided.
i want to write a story about a sheep
who slept in an ocean of stars
who dreamt in galaxies
who thought of constellations
who bleated in nebulae
for the world and all the worlds were in the sheep as the sheep in them.
i want to write a story about a sheep
who called out like desert winds
who birthed forests
who trampled craters and valleys and trenches
who swam the oceans as one ocean.
i want to write a story about a sheep
about the sheep living just past my back fence
whose fleece is mottled white and brown
whose eyes are bleary and half-blind
who sings no songs
whose legs are short and lame
who hears little
whose flesh is composed of flesh
whose tongue is made of tongue
whose nose knows not the difference between the brown grass and the green
whose belly echoes empty
who sleeps in a muddy paddock
who dreams in black nothing
who thought of a little lamb
who bleated in sadness
who called out in hope
who birthed nothing but yawning stillness
who trampled rabbit holes
who wished to swim the oceans as one ocean.
i want to write a story about a sheep.