The Feral Text

A man penned parables in the margin of his field.
He wrote them on the backs of cows,
thinking their slow movements would carry wisdom
into towns that had forgotten the soil.
But the ink washed in rain.
Children chased the cows and called them gods.
No one read the words.

One day, a monk appeared—not walking, but blooming.
He knelt in the wet pasture and whispered to a calf:
"Who wrote on your spine, and why does it ache?"
The calf turned, chewed cud,
and replied, "What makes you think this is a question?"

The monk laughed, and the flowers around him
opened too wide,
and began to bleed.