LEDGERWalking in the chaste cold of the mountain, humored in a fir perfume, bonely tone of small things fracturing beneath my boots, I’m at once accountable. What I did and didn’t. What I shared and kept. The debit is recorded on the paper of my flesh. But I can’t account for this brass horn whose bell now spires from my breast, caroling to every unseen creature witness.SHRIFT I miss the lonely taste of my mother’s milk Those loaded Saturdays ironing her silks Drunk on the light pouring out of the house Drunk on a kite … can I touch heaven? I never gave consent to be circumcised I’ll never fly a plane, got my father’s eyes Dead pioneers keep my heart on the plains Seven more years and I’ll be joining them I ride my motorcycle through a mountain range Consult the wildlife, working through my pain Animal eyes hold no judgment for me An animal dies … do you hear him singing?A FEELING Today I saw a horse in pain. There was nothing I could do. There was something I could do, but to do it would mean something I’m uncertain I’m prepared to mean. And so I kept on winding up the blushing canyon throat. Who am I to see that glassine look of distance in a creature’s eye and call it pain? Who am I to see a horse and want but to ride unsaddled on her back toward the green shine of my fortune?Lamb is an American writer.