FROM HAY TO HOLY HILLS
A little cow
has lifted its eyes
from hay to Holy Hills.
A Hebrew sun shines in one eye;
an Indian moon in the other.
She eats fat grasses
and drinks sun-lit waters.
The little cow is silent by day,
but all night she speaks
her simple moo to the stars.
Her heart is open and free.
She is dreaming of wild colors
she has never seen:
something far beyond
brown and green.
When her time
to be milked comes
the bucket will overflow
with golden cream.
/Blake Steele