donkeys wallowing :: jonathan greene

The donkeys bathe in dust,
the one spot in the pasture
that shines bright on
full-moon nights.

Moved to another pasture,
they will excavate another crater,
grunt with pleasure scooting
along the ground on their spines,

then rise with festive brays and stand
again, refreshed. Giving the donkeys
a good pat, generations of dust rise up,
coughing out a cloud that engulfs us.

Heirloom carpets that have
never been cleaned, they are soon
back to their non-stop grazing.