GRAILVILLE

the predawn sky is indigo
the eastern horizon a slash of deep persimmon
it is New Year
snow crunches as I walk inside the tractor tracks

I am on my way out to the barn
a dog has walked this way, I follow
his meandering paw prints.
I hear him barking in the distance,
perhaps he can hear me
walking his path through his furrowed fields
but his people won't let him out.

the sky is now fading to pastel

I stop at the barnyard to greet the black cattle;
their winter coats are thick, shiney with frost
as they crunch corncobs
the steam from their black, wet nostrils
dances in the air and dissappears

I now believe such breath
could keep a mangered baby warm

a bullock approaches me, our eyes lock
but when I move he prances backward

I now believe the body of a bull
does contain the power of the universe

now the western sky is crimson
reflecting an eastern sun not yet visable

the dog has been here too
his prints create a frozen dance of joy

I am now at a small pond
glazed with a sheer skin of ice
a dry wind whirls the steam rising from the pond
cat tails and thistles house a clan of cardinals
drops of scarlet sing from thistle branches

I follow the dog's path around the pond,
missing the puddles hidden beneath snow.
he is barking still
he'd rather be with me than where he is

back at the barnyard, the sun pops up
silhouetting black branches in the eastern field

the black beasts watch me
the cardinals call from the pond
my friend, the dog, waits