Blood in the belly

just rings right this morning. Rain and walking or the thread of each thing as it gets stretched into another day--a mess of crossed strings a person can tangle further. Pay attention with your gut like the president used to and all that happens is wrapped in toilet paper--padded disposal, an army of water droplets, the cat's numb whiskers getting placed back into its formerly live skin, glue and a steadied head. We are not sound here--infirm ranchers. The weather calls us down, calm and then rageful. I am a foreigner, too. In all cases the animals are home, ranging.