Bovine Dreams

I dream of lands, seas, lakes:
places I’ll never see
as even a forest is a stretch —
beyond perimetrical pastures
where I chew the cud,
over, and over, and over;
like spaceships spinning
into new orbits,
I long for pastures new. 

The moon is a spectre
mocking me at night
while I gaze upwards,
held and transfixed,
by its metallic silver markings:
the inverse of cattle tags 
that rattle my ears 
as macabre tags of ownership. 

I’ve never stepped into water,
sensing watery tendrils
smoothing my clumpy calves 
as fresh showery rain 
during sweltering heats;
I yearn to frolic in open waters,
dipping my head to cool
like paddling ducks
who see not fences,
chained gates, padlocks

Bovine Dreams

but only open air,
and liquid depths:
opening new doors,
and once locked secret chambers. 

I visualise the salty sea
as an upturned shell;
crenellated waves soothe,
cleanse my thoughts,
removing grim, field dirt
from my limited mind;
I gaze wider, longer;
my pupils dilate to unknown fullness
while I traverse seabed floors,
marvelling at pearlescent treasures,
fantastical creatures
whose sheen is Neptune’s trident. 

I collect my dreams:
they are gilded coins 
in the backpack of a traveller;
I press them close to my chest,
drinking in heady weights —
lifelines, possibilities 
whom tumble over each other…
as mackerel in swirling flashes,
highlighting iridescent scales;
each spark is Marilyn Monroe’s smile
caught in a paparazzi net. 

Bovine Dreams

I wake, summoned by farming calls
yet today, I groan no more;
instead I pluck a dream 
as a petal from blossoming flowers,
suckling deep its nectar;
I swallow full its medicinal tonic,
blissfully reawakening from each drop…

Each is honey,
an opulent treat from benevolent gods
amidst a showcasing plethora:
visions of each dream world I’ve visited;
they lay openly before me
in golden pools of effervescent sun 
like candy-striped heaven.