July 31, 2010
Not far from here, wild oats run like cream
around granite outcrops, off hills to the creek.
We are specks in it, in this canyon melting,
early morning. Blond empty heads bow and
kiss our shoulders, as four, first-calf heifers
circumambulate a far ridge, discuss at length
which trail to take, if we have hay. The breeze,
cool and friendly here as you call them closer,
as they remember the taste of fresh alfalfa
plodding along the track from tongues
in heavy heads of bone – grinding leaf
and stem, sweet rapture rumbles in their eyes.
Last year’s calves grown-up to be mothers,
a deep and careful look within the churn
of something new, alive within them.