after Lois Dodd
There’s so much in the in between
of light and dark, but the blind grass
can’t see how the light
tongues the cows in the field,
it’s just feeling for the change in warmth.
The highlight on a backbone
is like a scream of sunlight,
the cows’ languid heads drag shadows
across the ground like separate figures,
bearing the fuzzy weight of dimness.
Look for how the light hits,
rips through whatever it touches.
The acorns have started to breathe
because shadows breathe.
The clouds too are just like the cows,
ribbed with black and white.
Kate Fennimore is currently in the MFA program at the University of Nevada, Reno, pursuing a degree in poetry. She grew up in Oregon and writes about that landscape, as well as the animals and people who inhabit it.