Dovina30 Jun 2005

Then how about this:

On summer hills, a heavy bull drools,
brittle brown grass like cigarillos in his teeth,
his eyes fixed on consumption,
oblivious to my presence,

I wonder if he remembers
the green blades of winter,
or finds a duty of the living
to pleasure in what the dead cannot,
a gratitude for the running and mating
that made this small pleasure possible.

Okay, I didn’t give you a subset. I’m still hoping the running and mating of his parents that gave rise to his existence is what gives this bull the gratitude and the will to make it through bleak late summer, hoping for green grass of winter and reveling in the life of it all. Do bulls think like that? Probably not, but I can hope they do.