Chemo—


all summer


now each morning before dawn

my neighbor’s 12 head of cattle


walk up from the wooded lot and the pond at the back end of his property


to stand milling in small groups

or off alone


                              the sky—rigid

                              the grasses


                              the air, rushing—still: and the cattle as well


otherwise


in fury eating day eating darkness and time who come without pity or dream

shining little teeth: how perfectly they are dying

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