dog poem: Black Lab

Black Lab

The seeds the peasant drops are hints.

It's sprinkling when you are patted.

There is roaming at night

when the hours have filled pot holes

like your belly. The moon might crumble

a frosted cookie you sweep thru the room

with no urgency body solid as a chocolate bunny

good as a favorite record.

Walks are slow as a clock

and the need for holding

is your big paws that won't run

a stray thought of missing.