the sheep count themselves to sleep

[a work in progress to show that I am still writing. I've been working on this one since this summer. It's still a little rough around the edges, but it's getting there. Slowly but surely.]

the sheep count themselves to sleep
as babies rock in stillborn cradles,
the boughs never breaking,
the babes never falling,
though wind blows through sun-ripened nurseries.

hands hold deserted bellies,
the pasture not green enough,
the grass not tall enough,
the time never long enough.

baa baa black sheep hasn't any wool,
white and black, bag after bag after bag,
they never will be full.

Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep,
but no mother has ever found him.
worry, leave her alone,
never will he come home,
no tail to wag behind him.

dogs bark, chasing their tails.
phantom lambs cry,
an empty bleating of the wind.
shepherds rush to find the one,
the two, the millions.

all those lost sheep
alone in the night,
counting themselves to sleep.