From the backside of a smile
I rise, discontented.

Inside my eyelids
a dream sleeps
between measures
keeping the beat,
each a credulous mark
upon my heartsong.

The calf lies waiting,
wobbly legs unable
to bear its load upon its
hoof and foot.

It stands behind my eyes
rising in ignorant content.

It cannot sing my song
or read my notes
or match my steps through
crescendo,
staccato,
and pause.

The calf accepts
warm milk waiting,
without thought
of the rain.

 
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