Llama Looks Up
Llama looks up from her evening feed of field greens.
blinks through a mist by long
eyelashes purled rising silently while I read my book
foolishly head down in the midst of springing slow
gratuitous is this veiled field, wet,
soft, an unexpected llama looking long at me,
taking me in.
Raiment mist stops at the hem of the darkening woods,
requisite red barn, old, leans against the ribbon
of ground fog hovering, a wire fence almost invisible;
gray wire in white cloud, between me and that cloud
and that great llama attracted (I like to think this)
by my kissing sounds, her ope't eyes,
bestowing near me now, suddenly
the small head always tilts one side to the other,
little mouth a posed curiosity chewing like a child,
the long graceful neck, shagged soft fur thickly flowing,
disappears into tall grass.
I note this now from yesterday the grace
of animals who held me in their long gaze.