Pan

Ovine has evolved into this:

Pan

We saw a sheep, it's proselytizing 

eyes like jeweled eggs

fingering our gaze.

 

Until now.

Now that we recall and forget,

in a simulcast of memory.

 

And for what?

Your soulless weaseling

has alerted this unsteady

tummocking:

 

a tripping from toe to hoof

the cloven trip-trap

of the merely

ovine.

 

You forgot.

But I recall, alone,

what it is to stare

into the abyss

of the barely

human.

it will shortly be sent to the National Poetry Society's competition along with another two I just rattled off.

Endure!