Cows walk slowly into the evening,
softly precise movements a tranquil confusion.
They disturb grasses with soft lips.
Consider each stone as if the earth
edged them closer to a memory of glaciers.
I build a fire as the cold seeps through.
Flame waves its warm dance.
Cows crystallize into the circle of light
believing themselves to be mosaics pieced
together from bits of mineral and the past.
They are not ordinary. Fire-eyed,
they temper their existence
on the edge of darkness.
Make the moon rise by standing still
pretending they are dreamers.
-Stephen R. Roberts
from Small Fire Speaking in the Rain
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