Perfumed with milk and the life of a dog
village but juba
swiltkowe slippers of dance and rosary
worn by elbows and warmish breath
before the Sunday departure along the grain-bearing roads
Only yesterday, father set the day on its feet
lifted by buckets of well-water cold, an oak trunk in the woodshed, in a hole-riddled shoe, wearing the harvesters’ cap of “God bless you” for the peasants’ journey
Today the psalm from thatched roofs tangled by the wind, carried by the cross of grandfathers in carols and songs, sings Gloria to old nests in the crowns, with the voice of a bell like the heart of a child and a peasant