•The Listening•

Except myself and the dogs, would I write

Poems for them?

Rhythmic yips and a growl,

Refrain of woofs,

Their names repeated twice,

A high yowl sliding down a rail

─━━━━━━⊱✿⊰━━━━━━─

To a quavering whine.

And they do like some arrangements

Better than others, they go from fast to slow.

Lots of range in the howl,

And the yaps, staccato, snappy as orders,

   .  •  .

  . • ☆ • .  . • ☆ •  .

☆ •   .  • ☆ •  .  • ☆

   •  .  •

─━━━━━━⊱✿⊰━━━━━━─

Until I can’t continue their poem

Because they are standing on my chest

Licking my face, adding impromptu yelps.

Of course I would write for them,

Would take their critique seriously,

Would collaborate with them on a dog poetics

─━━━━━━⊱✿⊰━━━━━━─

Which would change of course with every ing litter.

Poems about the chase, about the snap

Of jaws, about doggy humping and birthing,

No poems of death or poems of writing.

─━━━━━━⊱✿⊰━━━━━━─

   .  •  .

  . • ☆ • .  . • ☆ •  .

☆ •   .  • ☆ •  .  • ☆

   •  .  •

A lot might be said of such a poetics

If no one were listening, only me and the dogs.

ᕈᗝᙓᙢ ᕊᎩ ᗩᒪᗝᗝℱ

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