Warm and wet
I run like a tired old mare trying to make sense of a cold dark moon
resting far above me.
Underneath the lights in your room,
I was loved.
On quiet days I was loved by you.
I was your shadow.
I'd follow where you'd go and never minded the tug along.
Darkness and deep green musk are my woodland home now and
the stars that know my name--my atlas.
I don't want to live my life alone, but I've been waiting for you all my life and
all my life I've never been free.
Set me free.
Warm water fills my lungs
rushing down my mane in a trickle of disgusting emotions.
What do I do? I let myself go.
You are gone with the mist and shadow and I--
I am still here.
I bark at the moon, I howl for you in pointless agony.
It's your name they all hear from
far, far away
and wonder what on earth I'm trying to say.
Rage against the dying of the light,
they say,
but all I do is desperately wait for the etching of the sun on the
royal blue horizon like an old friend.
Silently it comes.
Silently I wait for it to see me and warm the coldness of my cheeks, my bones and skin
out of numbness
into reality.
For it to love me.
There will always be better days for dogs.
But not today.
Today I run until the grass is green
and a grown man cries out affectionately
just for me.
The art of racing in the rain is why I run.
I run as
my name is howled at the moon.
I am not lost you fool
I am found.
I can feel His arms around me and my own and that is enough.
For now, that is enough.
Dog days are here again
for people who know why.
I, too, was once too young to understand.
But does anyone else smell the taste of rain as it's coming
and listen with their heart as the
music softly beats against it?
That's all I need to know.
Like lost days of the dog.
-k.p.
2/21/17
Tuesday
7:23pm
