Cattle Drive

The cattle rear their eyes to me,
As if my tardiness offends them.
Indifferent to my cajoling,
They set their own pace,
With a nonchalant gait.
Their hips moving,
With a gracefulness,
That belies their shape.
They are quieter now.
The only sounds are hoofs,
Thudding against the ground,
And pigeons cooing.
The sun begins to shine.
Showering light between
Overhead branches,
Glinting on their backs,
They seem to move as one
Giant undulating pulse,
Of black and white.
A meadow centipede.
Finally we arrive and they dissipate
Taking form again.


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