He says the whistle’s been blowing

over at the dairy for years,

all these years we’ve lived here

but I never heard it.

Not until the spring

following the winter

we almost threw it all out

and gave up on each other.

Deep down in that sorrow

and betrayal

we found each other again.

We propped open the old window

with a can of paint

and we made love like never before,

then lay warm and filled

and stunned

together in the new bed.

It was then that I finally heard it,

the whistle,

clarity finally emerging.