I walk beneath the wind-blown rigging
of trees, wading through the depth
of consequence. Rain-soaked branches
are wild as flooding veins
trunking under a tourniquet.
The encroaching field is stacked
with young calves, spindle-legged, tucking in
on lush, wet blades,
and when one lifts its head
to look at me as I pass
there is a lightness of comfort
in the doomed heaviness of its eyes;
mirrored deep and clear,
zip-lined in our passing gaze.