TMC (1975 / Philippines)


A goat rope-bound by its neck
To a stake on the ground
The thing its center
and yet its bane
worn burnt marks
on its snow white mane
choking the air out of her

Making repeated circles
on the hard brown earth
grinding as it goes
golden corn
and langka* flesh underfoot

Keeping its steady pace
under the hot summer sun
marching, trudging
wearily around its destined path.
Dreaming as it goes
of large wide spaces,
green meadow grasses,
the sweet mountain air.

When after a while,
the cool taste of spring water
turns out to be
none other than
its sweat on me.

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