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Beg the same cold moon
His clouded eyes peer down a gray muzzle.
Proud head bowed by time and work
and the weight of it all.
A man calls. He drags one foot, one pad at a
time though dying grass. Spiritus canis
come to life, just barely.
Momo eats and he's clean, so for now the vet
keeps the needle sheathed and stows
his black hooded shawl.
Some days Momo's eyes dance and glow wolfen
at faint footsteps and he growls
more felt than heard.
Most eves he howels primal at a memory of a
silver moon and asks her if
his time is ebbing full.
I hear him often in the blue gelid night
asking his dark question for all,
and I wonder...
Why I lay awake and beg the same cold
moon, tell me if lame dogs run
in their dreams?
His clouded eyes peer down a gray muzzle.
Proud head bowed by time and work
and the weight of it all.
A man calls. He drags one foot, one pad at a
time though dying grass. Spiritus canis
come to life, just barely.
Momo eats and he's clean, so for now the vet
keeps the needle sheathed and stows
his black hooded shawl.
Some days Momo's eyes dance and glow wolfen
at faint footsteps and he growls
more felt than heard.
Most eves he howels primal at a memory of a
silver moon and asks her if
his time is ebbing full.
I hear him often in the blue gelid night
asking his dark question for all,
and I wonder...
Why I lay awake and beg the same cold
moon, tell me if lame dogs run
in their dreams?
