And won’t you slow your pace, and let us look at least upon your shadow as you move? Your darkened form walks all too swiftly through these thickets, and some rams among our flock command me stay behind. They say my words disrupt their meditations, and my feet usurp the path that theirs would take. You need me, so they say, to be unseen, unheard, and let my sheepish silence be the sign of my devotion. Bleating arguments, we wait for you to turn; but until then we trot as troubled stragglers in your line,
not knowing how to reconcile our aims, or even if our shepherd is the same.
He’d seen it all. Swathes of nothingness spun into stars, the slapping of the first fin onto land, and now these creatures, by far the cleverest and the saddest—though listing it that way felt faulty, as if all happenings unfurled inch by inch instead of blooming in one cacophony, the apple crumpling just outside the city walls.
And it wasn’t even an apple, or fig, or pomegranate glinting with infernal seeds, though he’d accommodate their legends, accept provisional truths, the same way they worked with the earth un-sphered and stilled in leaf-thin sketch. &nbs