black cows
lie in Winter
wheat:
un-watered
corners
of circle-
sprinkled
corn,
or whatever
else they
feed cows
to feed us.
Their symmetry
is blackness—
four legs in
straight rows,
dry yellow
stalks rattle
in wind:
The feed
lot is stamped
to black
mud.
The feed
lot’s existence
is toxic.
Light is
absorbed in
the black
cow on
the hill.
The cow is
a copy.
It’s blackness
is the foreground
of a Winter
wheat photo.
A square frame of
black velvet
awaiting
an Elvis
portrait.
