Milk Hewn Lives

While the milk cow hastens Toward a worn barn, Gray as the edges of melancholy, Erasing the spring, breaking through Summer Like Sunday, wearing her best suit Rustling on the wings of Saturday’s robins, Starving for Monday, while her words Still the grief that comes from knowing The week behind her will not come Again, peppering the wind With grace and love, Intense as the passion, smiling As milk flows, quietly blessing, Trembling with songs, Who reach through the shadows, Singing melodies with soft eyes, Brown like the trees, Swaying softly, silencing every tear Who dreams of a lasting peace, Rich as milk who fills up the bucket, Then the cup, tinting her coffee, Soft blonde, like a woman whose heart Melts with prayers spoken, While the gentle heart sighs, At a breathless moment when light, Falls heavy against muddied silhouettes, Against timbers, foundations Who decide the cow can confide to the night, Where peace hides, amid star strewn skies, On flowing veils of the moon’s rising.