Monday, November 30, 2015

Fog, the Dog Eye Mirrors & Golden Ground that Push Though

Seven meteors fell across my face in the last five days I saw you.

Our telomeres shortened as we waited, malnourished, the feeling of separation, of chromosomes fraying, getting sticky.
Exiting, you sublimated unready (I
wouldn't admit & no point to recognize), collected
in thick the thick fog that would have been outright cinematic
to anyone not in shock.  The mirrors in German Shepherd eyes,
our quiet words.  I am positive I told you how much I love fog. 

No, you were the fog//

How you’d love us walking in it,
the flora around us & churning in our guts,
our dogs, slack-leashed;
unsure what to say but being. 

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