Fit with glass,
well-built into a cliff,
our house
hold us aloft

We who watch
a hawk wing past,
vultures coast
on thermal vents,
let our eyes
descend circular

At dusk the sun slips quick,
great neon lure unaware
the sea swallows whole

Oh well we led the mothers
up trail—
high country
                            accessible in spring

Slung across our backs now
in canvas envelopes,
six lambs each
folded comically,
                                      head out
to better see

Navigate this steep ravine
down to the flat place
a mother can raise a child safe

In this one life
                                on this soft-turning earth
of course we carry the fragile ones at first