Cow Heaven

i pass a black glove stuck
to a white oak beside the trail

and soon i am seeing trees with faces
pot-bellied old maples

great buttressed oaks
limbs spreading in all directions

spared for the shade
they once gave livestock

now filling in fast
with pole timber

and a blue-green haze
of little white pines coming up

an old pasture slowly climbing
toward the bovine clouds

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