The nimble stars are playing in the dusk
of summer, the humidity is higher
than it was last year. At two o'clock
it rains over the bayou. There are cows
that crouched out there during the torrents of
the hurricane. Sometimes I see them in
fat groups beneath the trees. I go to sleep
while she is playing outside, the light falls
across the mirror like the clothing that
she wears obscures her skin. She reads my heart
and then demands of me a penitence
that I have yet to know. The lazy cows
snore when it rains a little, in the fog
of early morning I can hear them roll.
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