Touch

Curled up by the fire.

Paws touch hands. One last blink. The

sound of flapping wings.

 

 

Boxes

Please do not move, you hear? Stay there
while I move
these boxes of white paper home, said the stranger.
Under the yellow streetlight,
and surrounded by a thickening fog
descending so late at night,
with my back against the idling flatbed truck
I heard some cardboard box bark.
Which one—and did it bark?
Under the disapproving yellow light,
and unwelcome touches of a philandering fog,
I heard barks again and felt boxes crawl
toward me. Or was it my fingers
crawling toward them? But did I not hear howls?
—Stay there while I move, barked the stranger,
this last box. Stay, stay there, there, the stranger said,
pointing to the revving flatbed.
But did I not hear labored breathing, a coughing dog
or dogs? Did I not reach into a box there,
tongues licking my fingers?
Dozens of puppies, one sick, some sick, some dead,
boxes swollen with sounds, with woof, woof—
Do not move! said the stranger.
Boxes in search of something, something other,
maybe a hero, a savior. Only white papers,
barked the familiar stranger.
But if not barking then what was it the boxes said?

What Is Dog?

What is dog?  Darkness that howls at alien sights.
What is dog?  Foolish dark made of bones and eyes.
What is dog?  What looks dog, acts dog, speaks dog.
What is dog—if there is no God?
What is dog?  Dark inside light.
Death is an acquired taste and I still wait
For mirrors that do not work.
And yet I've seen love as of late
Reflected.  I've seen love take another form.

Another Night

Outside the library some dogs in suits
were chasing nimbly after Pokemons
Inside a charming Persian cat was caught
on hidden cameras stealing a mouse
I don't recall my other dreams at five
Whose hands are these that wring this drenched pillow?
I still do try each night only in vain
with sapphire pills to put to sleep this self
Despite it all the morning stiffly comes
its sunny gong and birds chirping the time