ROLLING HILLS

Fields roll, relentless, chasing the sun east.
They ride-race along hills, cows lazing, slow.
Miles stretch, stretch as they feast, they graze,
No care crosses their muddled minds—burdened not,
These beasts.
They lay-low, lazily letting light linger,
Warming from legs to back-bow.

I spy, I pry, perceive, as birds of prey,
Prance-practice, pulling air under breast—
They come, they go, on wind they flow
The air in tow.
Dopey doves duck and dive, dodging death—
I hold my breath.

Exhale as a strike missed, claws clip wind above a cow’s crown.
My eyes dart and dance tween honeyed hills smooth, like beeswax balm,
The skies—a trance, the cruel and the calm.
What disarray and disarray on such a wonderful, wonderful day.