A New Moon Tomorrow

Some evenings are better left to silence
the herd moves on
a slow trail of moos and calls
to winds that know not their names
nor care.

They are the animals
humans rarely touch
they graze a thousand acres
go unseen
unheard
except by the moon.

The bull leads them on
across the creek bed into fields
where grass sprawls out aplenty
no threats here
they all have each other.

The moon glows on their spots
takes them into day
a mother cow is nervous
soulful-eyes betray.

She knows something is amiss
her calf along the way
misplaced his nearness to her
the morning hears her bay.

She leaves the herd with their dismay
over ravines and forest cove
to find her baby calf
his stillness stiff and cold.

Nudging at his side
his eyes still open wide
he doesn’t hear the cry
that pierces a calf-less sky.

The herd who hears the wail
comes to her, without fail
watching her bent to him
in a broken, chilling wind.

An hour goes by
she leaves the body there
head held low, her eyes
half-closed with aching sigh.

Joins the herd again
who all feel profound sorrow
the bull joins her with a licking
promise

someday a new calf -
always a new moon
tomorrow . . .