You can’t shut up dead dogs.
Their barking folds the air we are lost in.
Children protect graveyards from angelic swarms,
paper from origami masters,
the ice on sidewalks from thirsty birds.

Mirrors don’t see anything in us.
They look for rapture and never for meaning,
but consider a fire immovable
like the spirit of a stinking stylite,
eyelashes grown between the toes.



3 thoughts on “from

    • It’s funny – just today I began to read Jean Cocteau’s screenplay for “The Eternal Return”, and it opens with a gardener carrying a dead dog in his arms. Too much synchronicity around these days)

      Liked by 1 person

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