Jobsite Puerco II: an Ode

stranded on another triangle of sand
wedged between river, mud, and fence
sky, machine, and trees

After all the city folk and designer ranchers on polysyllabic horse breeds had left, the river was silent.
A wind died and the sun shone along the edge of the sky girdling cloud and lit the world anew.
The meadow lark, who had scolded our transgressions against its favorite olive tree, was quiet.
Creation happens every day and those who camp out know the important events of the day are measured in the stillness of the quotidian sunrise and sunset.

(Cow I)
(Cow II)
(Cow III)
...as infinite passion and grandeur bathed my face in God's (why not say it?) loving beatitude, I understood the beauty in the complexity written on his face in tattered streamers of cloud, now dimpled, here undulating, lurid yet calm and innocent.