One black calf came, curious, to the fence,
the rest grazed slowly through the field.
People drove by.
Nobody stopped.

The clouds
in the west parted just in time.
We fitted binoculars with heavy filters
and there she was.
Our size.

Turning with us
around that close yellow star.
Dark against that star.
For months she’d been yellow
against the darkening sky.

We won’t live
to see this again.  And will anyone
ever see us like this–
one black spot, turning through the sky,
just above the clouds closing in.

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