Monday, May 25, 2009

drafting once again, perhaps not more i

i can hear the dog, all seventy-eight point five pounds of him whimpering,
as his legs quiver in the dark and some unknown
fear takes flight. nine point five years of comfort offered in that self same dark,
meaningless.
i cannot cover; i cannot squelch. that.
that thing that crawls out of the night, crawls out of the rumbles of thunder,
and shakes his core.
i cannot share enough of me. i cannot give enough of me.
i cannot replace that first brief, yet far too endless, lifetime of fear with my lifetime of love.
not for that dog. not for my wife.
and i quiver in my dark, alone with that failure.