Black cows
Meat ghosts in the mist
What animal contemplations
Are breathing warmly through
                         your thick shadow flesh?

I see our thumb prints on you
We guide the filling of your flanks
       Through generations.
We do not loose
Our child-drive to touch things.
I want to reach out to you now
                pat your dark domestic head.

You are cattle.
I am human.
This is pasture.

See the unevenly woven web
We have spun
And now we are dizzy.
I am unsure where the balance
                                                     should rest

Between wilds and wanders and the human hand,
Itself belonging to something wild if unrecognized
Behind the shell of our own furless skulls.

So I focus on the drops of dew
     Clinging to the web strings
     In this early morning mist
     And resist the urge
                                        to touch them.