When my calcium bones fell from their gums,
I felt Calliope rooting daffodils in the bottom of my throat;
drowning my lungs, as the morning light comes.
She told me to skip my rain coat,
for the dew was imperative for my daffodils to grow.
She told me "don't you want my gifts to show?".
And I watched the tips of my toes,
as they bury thmeselves in the earth
in place of Calliope's daffodils.
And what coaxed from my mouth was nothing short
of summer hues,
and Calliope's askings.