Close Her Eyes

Dig deep, down
below the rotting leaves,
webbed roots and stones,
deeper, open the earth wide
that no part of her body
be bent or forced.
Lay her head in last,
close the pecked eyes,
ribbon of lips,
this lamb born yesterday,
just begun to walk,
bump against her mother
looking for the teats.
Lay on the shovel loads,
the wet earth,
clods of burnt umber soil,
mask the odor of her body,
hold it down with the weight,
pack the dirt hard and spread
the last of earth and leaves
so it looks never moved,
push the old leaves in a strew
as though a wind had come,
blown her smell away,
her ewe’s endless bleating
tearing at the morning.