Solstice hay

Snow heavy on barnboards, and cattle are eating the hay of the long light, of the firefly light, of the strawberry moon. They chew and they chew, blood rising, and doves coo in their bellies. They hold warm ears out in the cold air as if memories were sounds, as if they heard the creamy moon moo. Cowbreath steams, clouds over their heads, the rich smell thickens, and they send their slow eyes sideways, almost into thought.