THOSE COWS: THEIR DOUBLE LIFE They come ambling around the shagbark stand, up from the lower pasture and its smelly pond, pretending random travel and no surprise at anything: serene, duplicitous. Heavy necks and rumps hung equally low, they mime tame endurance of cold, fake calm in blinding wind, weary ache humble in their bellowing till after dark. They hunch outside the window. Eyes too deep for thought scorn what they see. Cows come to the porch while we sleep, flex massive lips around doorknobs, heave their fat secret malice inside. They shift chairs, shake the drawer with the knives, crack the cellar door. Mornings, all adrowse, things seem out of place to us.