This pygmy goat, white beside a white wall
and still as a retired nursery chair, stares
un-blinking – tolerating my palm on her forehead
as votive blessing, visor or stay- her valiant
yellow eyes blank and fixed on something real
yet indeterminate before her lids drop home.
*
This speckled Welsh grey was skin and bone
when salvaged and her steaming foal heart-stopped.
Today, filled-out, over stable door, she ushers me
close but at my touch shakes her head, ears aslant:
perhaps at the reminder I embody: collateral loss
in my skin, the mother, defunct, and un-broken in
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