A horse in hock-high
rain-softed heather,
clouds a translucent shadow between
the sun and my soul.
Michigan’s waters were cold and blown
on the warm crystalled dunes,
and I’m gone,
I’m feeling it’s done
and now I’m alone
and able to bear it–

My dog was alone,
for a moment, and gone,
a grotesquing twist
in his back as he lay
beaten by a car he only only
wanted to lick and love like me,
four legs in the air and right
on the painted centerline
in the middle of the road.

“He’s gone!” I knew,
and for that moment he was.
And I must have envied that beast
his bed on the asphalt,
for I hoped–for an instant–“He’s dead!”
I hoped–for that instant–“He’s dead.”

[Published October, 1968, in The Amalgamated Holding Co. vol 1 Num 1]