My last dog
was a red sand dog
of autumn shades
and biting flashing glory
gleaming fur and stretching legs
across flowered meadows
where deer slept at night
under stars winking
like the tiny glints of silver in his
eyes
deep open dog eyes
of honest self and wonder
waiting for the next walk or
run
through grass heavy and wet
nose twitching, wanting just to lay it all
out

but he, like the others before him, was
put coldly to death
by my neighbor

Reaching through night
I found you there
and your thoughts
your eyes
your dreams
opened before me
a harbor against
the waves
and the hordes
pressing in
while about us
on all sides fell
the flaming towers
and the very stars themselves

She possessed the keenest eye
I have ever known
and the pure
ability
to see what others would call
beauty
before even they could see it
and possessing that raw talent
made her the finest
photographer
I have ever
known
I mean, her photos hung everywhere about
that great hot city
we lived in
and her name was well known
in galleries of all
sorts
it was all I could do
to keep up with her
but I tried, and
once
somewhere in the flat
open
plainness
of eastern Montana, somewhere
between, I think,
Wolf Point and
Glasgow
she told me to stop
the car
so I did, and she got out
walking off into all that tall
bison-grazed and
yellow
grass
to shoot silent photos of an old building
and while her back was turned
I took her picture
but never told her

Pushing my soul dreams
through the Japanese curtain
of her will
her resistance her system
of beliefs
her best friend's diary
she shudders and papery
leaves fall where the apples
lay on yesterday's
cool autumn grass

Got big plans alright
gonna ***** myself up out there
just a long greasy smear
across the sidewalk of your heart
where'd that ****** come from
they'll ask
as I blur past
right outta nowhere
and you'll do your thing, smile,
walk along as if nothing at all
had just happened
and I'll wait for you
on the other side
while the others wonder

Coal lantern heart
a dim red glow
through my crooked ribs
swept this way and that, a feeble ember
among the black wet trunks
night forest and leaning trees
of your love
my feet, torn and stung
by many a stray thorn
and twisted fallen branch,
plod and weave and stumble
searching
as a light fog arises
from mossy floor and worm strewn soil
the moon above
a mocking ancient savant
thinly veiled by passing clouds
your name I call, voice
more like a last breath
while from somewhere behind me
the faint sound of dry and rustling wings
arises

With paper bag hands
I try
desperately and with great
concentration
to calm
soothe
stroke and entrance
the fluttering bird
of your love