The Cows | Timothy Donnelly

The Cows

A green this self-evident doesn’t need to be addressed bluntly

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ to provoke response. Not without its secrets, it is itself

the bluntness, and therefore wants a more roundabout approach

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ to reveal its full nature, the way a cow might lift its face up

into a breeze to catch it. Not because it snorts notes of clover unrolling

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ yummily in the current’s staves, but for the sheer tactility of it.

Afterwards, it can be a challenge to picture cows

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ among objects as ponderous as cows themselves, bodily

speaking, with typical examples being Volkswagens,

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ Christmas trees, and the leather couches of suburbia.

It might also be unpardonable to set a cow beside such furniture

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ in light of its fabrication. Take this as an excuse

to reevaluate chartreuse, with the likelihood of full surrender

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ rising with atmospheric pressure. There is no feel

for death here at the moment, no storm, only the cumbersome

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ business of life, which must be celebrated. Even if much happens

only to be forgotten, or has happened that we would rather forget,

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ still the early morning air clambers up and over and

around things, like a speculative animal that gets to prove itself

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ against the shrubbery, garbage, and dormant cars of the street.