Walking Your Dog
Painted Hills
Hey you!
With the stick in your hand!
That your dog?
Wanna hear something?
In the hour between
the wolf and the dog
when the earth opens
the brothers howl
and people die
he follows me up the mountain trail
You must be sleeping
or fixing breakfast
or taking a shit
Why you don’t know where’s he at, man?
Your faithless wild mutt
nose to the wet ground
claws for worms
odors of sintered hooves
buried rot
urine and feces of owls
badgers and bears
squished slugs
squirrel saliva
tufts of hair
brain of vole
swallowing whole
like a pterodactyl
burrs in his brown hide
dirt on his mouth
but he don’t care
only God knows what he knows
I might die on the trail
and be so so happy
if my last waking sight
was your dog
licking my face
You are not present
in any form
when the sun breaks
and we lope down the trail
past your house
I send him to your door
You have no clue
me and your dog
have this thing
