& then the miniature sheep

			sighed, turning their nervous eyes
from the sleeting wind, & then the sleeting wind
formed an ice-helmet around their fist-sized, fluffy heads,
& then their heads were heavy, & hung low on their small shoulders,
& then their helmets fused with the snow gathering over the field. . . .
& when they sighed for the last time their breath filled
the helmets, & turned to snow, & the snow worked its way
inside the pink chambers of their tiny ears
until it leaked, slowly, onto their miniature, shivering brains.
Then they were truly deaf, & truly blind,
			unable to see
			the one arriving







On enormous snow shoes

			wielding a tire iron. . . .