Audrey Hackett
Cows are the large dark flowers
that at night fold into the field.
Moon is the window into space, the one
soaped over when the shop shuts for good.
Trees are the fires that don’t stop rising
from roots that flicker in the earth.
Trough is the hollow that fills;
stream is the fullness that empties.
Gate is the fence that breaks as
we enter
and mends as we end.