Boitempo

Dusk falls on the farm
in a different way.
The shadow comes in the hooves,
in the cow's moo
separated from the calf.
The cattle are what night falls on
and in the light that the window
of the farmhouse sheds
into the corral
its salt statue appears
multiplied,
sculpture of the night.
The horns delimit
the private sleep
of each beast and weave
curve by curve the island
of universal sleep.
In the cattle we sleep
and in them we wake.
Dawn breaks on the farm
in a different way.
The light arrives in the milk,
warm squirt from the udders
and the day is a blue pasture
that the cattle reclaim.