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Bones jutting out like weatherworn ledges and a tail not unlike the lion's. The weird geography of their bodies as they jump over a brook the air itself holding them clumsily in its invisible folds.

The movement of their mouths in the awkward light full of grass, empty of verb.

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Ears, the ears of a cow and the wholeness of a moon in their eyes.

Dew-laden nostrils sweet as clover, Udders pendulous, wobbly, milk-heavy.

Casual as the daisies themselves the sun-work of cows.

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