The patient cow slips from the fog into my reality.
She comes from a reality where mud is everwhere and
ferns are taller than her back.
I can see her approaching because there's a pale light
in the air between her horns.
She brings the mud with her,
and I open the gate.
A brace of wild turkeys pace beside her.
They are sober and intent,
taking their guarding duty seriously,
even though it's honorary.
As she goes by, the cow gives me a thought about the buddha.
Buddha in the world of fog is a red cow with a bent horn,
and she leads the herd
(like a blanket with many feet)
over the rocky hills to sunlit grass.
Buddha in my reality is an old cowpoke who
laughs himself sick over the ways of humans,
but I recognize the same twinkle in their eyes.

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