Michael Bickford

In the muddy pasture at the end of the lane black cows graze. Tufts of fur brush-stroke their backs mud-manure cakes their sides dark-wet slurry down sturdy shanks their modest beef-cow udders lurking turgid in the dark between, their occupation ripping grass and vetch with a tearing crunch, of looking up to chew, to gaze, […]

gray on gray in morning white on green at noon glowing coral in the gloaming gone by night   so many egrets in the pasture now as winter nears feeding together still slow steps sudden spear staving hunger indifferent in their scattered flock swallowing frogs and gophers or picking maggots from the dung   looking […]