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