bored as bison, we victualed
at the hems of vapid cratches, munched
our sallow hay until the milkmaids
wandered home. at dusk the vacuolate
cosmos coughed its clumpy
vapors, globulated cherry brambles
awash in stark pellucid blue.
you were dozing back-lit
on a mountain of pale straw.
blissful unworried snoring
rattled the bottom lip
that tented your rough gums
and rose, evaporating
in the malted midst of space.
there was a scraping sound
from the bottom of our trough,
freak bean-eaters rappelling
with hopes for soft escape.
the sun had drained completely
in the horizon's hairline cracks.
wide awake, i tried in vain
to scratch your hieroglyphic
from my hoof.
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