With Apology To Frost
. . . for Jim
Once, and often, a brown bulk of shadow
Would move at the edge of the pasture
In the first light, horses still in the barn,
And a wedge of head and then shoulders
Would ease out of the darkness, following
The sun into the grass and wet white clover,
My neighbor's one cow he raised each year
Come again through the rickety fence gate
We shared, neither of us caring to repair it,
Caring more for allowing the cow its comings
And goings, knowing as it did not the one day
It would be led into the truck and slaughter.
Sometimes bad fences make good neighbors.
And now and here, miles and years apart,
Some heft and heave of heavy weight shifts
In the first light at the edge of the few pines
And the ground not mine, a presence I catch
Only in looking away, looking back at all the
Beautiful faces that looked up when I called.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2013-08-15 at 17:47
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