Sweet Whole Milk


There is not one thing
That ever appears dull here
Even the sheep seem to glow
From drinking all the milk,
With splendid vitality.

The valley beyond
Falls especially so,
Low enough, but then to graze
Having to catch a breath
Then coming back up
For more milk.

Climbing the mountain
It’s part of what I came here for
There he is… before me,
Liquid, delicate, warming
Enchanting, but yet so complete
Our time of existence will not cease
It’s remnants of what is to be.

With the crust left on it
And on the rim,
He sticks to my rib cage,
Under my skin,
I consume him.

How much more can I drink
From him, much more, I think
He’s neither half nor skim
But sweet whole milk.

He’s just pure to me
And my romantic notion
Of art in it’s purity.


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