Early summer at dawn

I smelt the morning air off the lake

At my window over the fields, I

watched a young girl swerve around the corner

delivering milk.

She came every morning,

Like an old bat staggering up the field.

The bicycle would squeak, the milk bucket clattered

dripping milk on the side.

And sonorous as it emptied.

I recall her grey apron, the pocket white enamel

Of the milk bucket, and the treble

Creak of her voice like the pumps handle,

and the smile across her face. 

She made me think as her warm presence stayed with me. 

That night when full moon lifted past my gable,

It fell back through my window and lay

Into the water set out on the table.

The faint, hushed tone broke the silence of  my room and

I peeked through opening of curtain outside.

I thought I heard her soothing voice.