There were pigs
in the night, a wild herd
overran the farm, trampled
my fences and flowers, rooted the garden,
lost in the depths of overturned garbage cans
their grunts echo the darkness
as they search the land
while the night reaches out before them
like a starving child.
Jan nudged me awake
to the walls of this new place we call
home. "It's all right," she said
and slept. And I lay awake
the rest of the night, listening
as the wind carried the scraps of sound,
bounced them against the house,
muffled grunts of the abandoned herd
searching us out in the night.
--David Lee (Utah's poet laureate)
submitted by Ellen Walker
