Grief like a spring seed,
weak and wet, a damp paper breath in my ear.
And then shaking
Snorting and eyes blackened crimson,
Hides steaming with sweat and thighs bunching.
My dead dog lying on the table euthanized. Golden fur cold like
A wig and tongue drying out.
It settles like acrid smog. And I miss the stampede and
The drumming I danced naked to like a wild thing.
A warm hand on my trembling shoulder .
You beside me quiet, and aware that I play
With bulls, locking horns and that I’m covered in smog with dripping, wet ears.
You cut a clip of my dog’s hair and put it in my hand.
Rubbing the fibers between my fingers I recall
Nights on the couch with him curled up beside me.
Brown eyes like chocolate. So sweet.
Grief may be a seed, planting itself inside.
Like a stitch sliding through flesh.
Bringing palls of choking air.
And anger that dances like fever in your veins and soul.
My hand is gripping the cup of it,
Holding it up in front of my face like a holy book
Breathing in the scent of ink and salvation.
Pour it out you say and put it down.
And remember it as it was, and as it will always be
In your heart,