I can see through the thick fog of a premature spring
an extra set of legs;
wobbly and dark across the creeping haze.
Sometime within the chilled hours of an unseen dawn
the heavy cow must have labored silently
with her back turned against the off-putting wind.
And there, she bowed her head with the lowered calf
and the rising steam
only to lift it again when the fog cleared and the calf was standing
and the cars on the county road whizzed by.