the rise and fall of a dog’s paws as it leaps
through the night, beneath the chill settling
on the shoulders, the summer drawing to
a close, an ending of all that enraptured
my thought, the fire extinguishes again in
the pinch of my thumb and forefinger, time
seems to be turning on my path again, I
can smell its perfume, a plot of my dreams
a movie seen on the TV one lone morning
the past tingles my skin and I wink, repeat
the steps once traversed, crumbling beneath
soon the land will run out and a trench formed
and a true end that be, the black dog heaves,
my feet take me to places unknown (yet known)
ubiquitous eyes trace all that happens, that is,
the fates die by my touch, diffusing into the blurs,
I turn into an Effigy, the moon howls, dreams sleep
.
The writer has the right to tell his tale in symbols.The reader has the right to see through those symbols as a part of his own tale.
