
It’s a dirty trick
not to bring ‘hello hay’
by flake or bale,
to show empty-handed
with a cluttered mind
from another world.
If I had the time
I’d stay the day among them,
forget myself
and lie down and learn
to chew my cud
without thinking.

It’s a dirty trick
not to bring ‘hello hay’
by flake or bale,
to show empty-handed
with a cluttered mind
from another world.
If I had the time
I’d stay the day among them,
forget myself
and lie down and learn
to chew my cud
without thinking.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry
Tagged another world, cows, cuds, photography, poetry, sentient, time
The old cows know
grazing and cud,
how to a hold a thought
in the shade, how to
let it linger and settle
beneath certain trees,
earth stirred into beds
of moldy leaves.
The scent left
floats to revisit
when grazing’s done.
No secret place,
no special remedy
but time—time
among the grasses.