the cows all seem to have the same idea
clustered under two small trees that lean over the fence
they don’t seem to realize that their proximity,
so many huge, heavy bodies in a small space,
might counteract any coolness the scanty shade had to offer.

by contrast, the haybales are making me think of chilled champagne
or the pale gold of the half-moon I saw last night
they seem to drink in the heat, absorb July
their neat, endless rows a covert battalion in Summer’s army
training for long winter months ahead.

then, they will offer secret hope, a memory of warmth
to the cows.

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