We were walking the earth
as we always had

bare feet on baked clay
shod feet on soft peat

with cattle and donkey, goat and sheep
treading a calm rhythm beside us

when a man approached
bearing a fence and sign

proclaiming the way was closed today
and every day after.

Halting our train, we didn’t comprehend.
We shifted on the spot. A tail swished.

The man just stared,
pointing to the sign,

standing his ground
as he’d been hired to do.

We started around, and in time found
that the fence extended the length of the world.

We live by moving
and the tracks are narrowing.

The animals stay close.
Their ribs shine.

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