Werewolves as well as high-leaping cows are discommoded when the moon fails to appear. Annemarie Austin's whimsy is as

imaginative as it is amusing. The writer was born in Devon and lives in Weston-super-Mare. This poem comes from her third

collection, The Flaying of Marsyas (#6.95, Bloodaxe Books).

MOONLESS 2

THE COW THAT JUMPED

By Annemarie Austin

'There's really no incentive. Oh it's well enough to leap the tree,

the hill, the mountain, but where's the truly cosmic act

to take this cow beyond the realm of fact and into legend?

The cat can fiddle all she likes - it makes no difference.

My feet spring from the ground, leaving behind the daisy

tussocks and the buttoning of purple thistle flowers,

but there's no target up above to aim for. The dog is sober

as a judge at the door of his kennel. The dishes stack

a low pile in the closet and spoons lie single in the drawer.

Oh the drawn-out days, the ennui for a cow with aspirations

past this meadow, this house, domestic animals and utensils.

Oh for a blue-white night and the thin bones of a bird!'