A Sheep Dog Laments
after a Navajo Lullaby

The white woolly head chews air,
Green cud. The still sheep dog’s ears
Are caught changing into
Radar dishes left listening to the locusts
Chanting the Enemy Way, in the half moon,
To the corn pollen dusting the night.

“The Mountain Lion’s paws hurt. Come help
me, little sheep.”



A lonely lamb finds the hurting
Mountain Lion—yawning and crying on
A boulder. A falling star becomes an epitaph.
The sheep dog walks a few steps
Into the blowing wind trying to find
The lost lamb. Above, a star falls bright blue.
“The Mountain Lion’s paws hurt. Come help
me, little sheep.”



The sheep dog howls.

“The Mountain Lion’s paws hurt. Come help
me, little sheep.”

Overhead, a jet shakes the hogan as my mom
Wonders where the missing sheep have gone.
She knows we have fine sheep dogs, three
Rough mutts. At first light, we’ll take the pick-up
Over the sand dunes to the edge of the canyons
To listen for a dog’s howl. A shoe-game song
Turned lullaby, my mom sings of a terrible cat
Luring lambs. My mom blows out the kerosene
Lamp, I smile to hear it again: