the dogs run
behind their tongues
lick history’s
sloppy cantata of happiness

what is peripheral
doesn’t happen all at once
sometimes it’s just
outside the ordinary
a picket fence around a gun
the car dealership behind the swamp

once I had an idea
it’s gone now
‘if you really love it
let it go’

the dogs run
in front of their tails
bash time into
topiary shapes of questionable honesty
a shrubbery of exhausted commodities traders
my cousin Joan ecstatic about her new fridge

in the next stanza
Joan’s new fridge opens up
the following:

during my times of greatest need
I rely on words
the dirty dogs

they greet me happily
and I scratch them behind the ears
good dog
                        good boy
                                                      fetch!

the barks
the beating of wings
they get to the edge of the field
they never return

what will I say to you
who has been so good to me
who listens when
I am silent
or have a bath
leave my feathers on the bathroom floor
dark furrows on the chair or map
something wrapped and worried on the table
a new way to fold my bones