Cows Know Nothing of Eternity

A string of cows tread single file, bags heavily swaying,
dull hooves pulverize the ground into a floury cumulus.
Turned toward the familiar barn door,
the comfort of routine goads them from pasture to stanchion.
Morning and evening, the biochemical process,
whereby receptors fire under experience and
invisible circuits click open then close
a maw full of cud while heads rise and fall
with each lumbering step as they steer
a bovine docility, lumbering
towards a predefined zone of the known.