I  have wanted to wear the unworn shirt
Always put behind, for a missing button.
It seems the time has come  to take it out
Inspect and put it back again in the closet.

The button is a mere rose, not appearing
In early dawn, in rows of reds and yellows
Pulsing like some  tiny hearts, baby hearts
Full of love and gurgle, saliva on wet lips.

The button is a busy woman's lady fingers
Not appearing from  a coffee not yet made,
Its magic not  woven on a shirt of buttons.
The button is baby's missing tooth of laugh.

It is a missing son from the dark of a room,
A missing dream from a crying mom's sleep,
A missing button from her long train journey
A whole missing shirt of no missing buttons.

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