A breath of mist covers the fields.
Sun rises, watery and thin-
like runny lemon curd.
Cattle sleep, warm bodies pressed together-
like naked mouse pups in an underground nest,
their nostrils open and close,
like mud circles on a volcanic pool.
Two cows, lying apart from the herd,
awaken, stretch out tongues, giraffe-like,
to curl around green stalks. Their ears
flicker. They chew cud and stare
at the mists, the sun, and distant firs:
a visual breakfast.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem