We are born to see the light.
Ask the new calf this morning
early, after its first day
of incessant licking while
wobbling along her belly,
to nose the warm bag
swelling with nourishment,
just to close its eyes
when put to bed that first time—
back into that blackness
safe between a fallen limb
and the trunk of an oak tree.
Everything is new and disconnected
when its eyes open again
to see what it smells
or stumbles over, listening
for a voice, always known,
to find her beautiful.
drycrikjournal 
So visual. Beautiful portrait John.
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Once again, you set my day off to a good start.
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Thank you both for your instant feedback, your kind words that make the writing all the more worthwhile. I haven’t quite written the poem I wanted, but it’s part of the discovery, following the golden thread, and ‘finding eyes’. The black, the dark, the night has been a recurring image, especially this past week or two, that I’d like to promote as equal to the light. I’ll stumble there eventually. Have great weekends!
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