Pastoral

Outside the library, two cows browse
the still-wet grass,
unaware of the surge of intellect
going on around them, unaware of poetry,
politics, and what the fall fashion forecast is;
they are only hungry like me.

It's a clear case of mud and muddlement,
this morning's rain clinging to the pasture . . .
and I still clinging to my dreams.

For now things are in balance;
the weight of the mind,
a spinning feather in the wind
never touching ground,
while the two cows browse,
blissfully unaware.