We are half a soul.

There is a hungry ox

the kind you see that never lifts its head

but only feeds on the endless rolling hills of grass,

never full but only stepping every few bites for fresher leaves

of grass. That is me. I am looking to be filled by something like grass

but not grass. I am looking for the other half of my soul.

I am looking.. but ashamed of looking, because I might

even be ashamed of being an ox, thinking instead

that I am a man, a tamer of beasts.