With the movement of a great ocean
Tristan in full volume fills the dairy,
each tidal layer of the orchestra
surging towards that harsh blend
of wood and wind and brass
in their rise to a greater love

and I hum on with the paddle's own swish,
warm milk gurgling into the vats
as the fats lift from the blue whey
and lactose transforms into lactic acid

while the morning drifts on
until the curd forms its thick crust
in reefs floating across the milk sea
as solid as any phantom formed
from changes of heat or lush spring grass;
the vagaries of microbes.


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