The cows broke through the fence
Onto the side road, just feet from the highway.
One bright strand of new barbed wire
Ran between the old strands
Held up by older posts.
But the cows, though slow bovines,
Just leaned in
Leaned in and the fence gave way
And they wandered into the road.
You went out to help Andi round them up
Though neither cows nor fence
Were yours nor hers,
But being neighborly
And not being able to raise the owner,
You two went out to gather up the cows
Leaving us two, me and the baby, here
Where just moments ago
I looked over at you
Holding him close on your chest
Beneath your beard.
Your old man wrinkled forehead
Matched his baby worry face –
Six weeks and seventy-two years
Snuggling in the big chair
In front of the window
Beneath the framed picture on the side wall.
The lower edge of the picture frame
Made it into the picture I took
Of you and your grandson.
The hard edge of the frame
A boundary
Holding in all that love
That still breaks through
Even in a cellphone photo.