Wildflowers, muddy tubers:
My girls tug at their leashes and my hangover.
I am hazy.
Humidity inside and out.
Solstice promises winter relief, but not yet.
Bleary, I walk
Homeward like a faulty Magi.
I’ve pollen-droppings and night soil offerings,
Leftover myrrh –
Bagged, but stronger than frankincense.
Nature keeps her own and rewards with smell
and sight and taste.
Coffee is what I want,
That and a North wind portent older than Bethlehem’s star.
Unwelcome trinity of curs
Rush along the trail we wound in search of wind.
Suffers no love for neighbors.
My girls lunge into the charge, a vestment of hackle,
An arsenal of mouth.
Noise and fear! My legs
Are bared guilt amongst the snapping teeth.
I chose this route,
Decreed to take the trail in reverse,
A pagan unspooling of the year, a poetic talisman,
Demons escape the mirror.
They are silver-furred and baying for blood,
Mine, or my dogs.
I forfeit the mild commandment
Annul it with exultation and become the wind I sought:
A goddess untamed.
Inspiration is literal,
A breath transformed into a scream and horror into creation.
Fury and wonder
Declare this howl divine.
It is awareness, and it is implacable as the seasons
Threshing the years.
The revelation of canines
Breaches the eternally curved edge of infinity,
Carries me with it.