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Once, I had a goat,
and loved him.
Two weeks old,
in need of a bottle,
like an own baby
I could not have.
A mystery,
why such sweet spirits
would love us,
messy as we are,
and we are.
But there was tenderness,
and trust—
Have you ever been trusted–
makes it so much worse
when you fail.
We hiked canyons together,
and I held him in my arms
when we crossed the deep creeks–
carried him with strong, sure hands,
and placed him safely
on the dry banks,
as if I were a good god.
But a failed one.
Though, who would have known it then?

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