Not so much birthed as
aborted by something
absolute, it arrived
among them much unloved
by the shambling herd.
It suckled no milk,
thirsted some great otherness.
Nudged, it stumbled out
of the tremulous barn
wobbly-kneed, wandered
beyond the pale hedgerows
into open pasture
untroubled by thoughts
and chewed on shadows,
drank from a swirling shallow
cribbed in space.
It was found in a field
like a cloud-blotted moon,
withholding origins.
The older ones would read
omens of some other world
in a wormholed morn,
the odd-numbered nubs
on a flawed, unhallowed head.