This Moonless Dog
      

       This moonless dog
       of pillows and play,
       fetched balls, 
       paws raised,
       a comfort in bed,
       the light of my days

       has slipped
       into darkness, 
       the loam
       of the night 
       that gives back 
       no thing, but 
       the word
       of the leaves,
       bent grasses,
       trees clacking
       their branches.

       I send out her name
       on the back of the breeze.
       It rustles the leaves, 
       bends back the grasses,
       and blusters the trees.
       I swing from the lantern
       prisms of light 
       where two eyes waver
       at the threshold of night.


       Next
       Contents
       Home page