Evenings beyond fences, we run
among newborn calves, cigarette
and glass of wine listening to
our childish glee and laughter,
each buck and run unique displays
of finding legs for the future.
To the drone of local news
leaking through the screen door,
we plan tomorrow, replay
cattle strategies punctuated
by coyotes up canyons
and an answer from the dog.
We could be on the bow of a ship
watching the world pass, or
astraddle a log in a swollen river
as new mothers come to water—
never the same landscape
until the light is gone.
drycrikjournal 
Nice poem! Thank you!
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