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.
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.