Never Running in Straight Lines

 Sometimes when I walk the dog,
I don’t walk far—
End up in circles kicking stones or
Leaves while the dog smells the smells
Found in neighbor’s yards.
We both want off the leash.
Throw a stick and it may or may not
Be retrieved, this bitch uncertain,
Untrained as she runs sniffin’,
Through dry river beds and mud,
Old bones, crossed limbs….
Urine, you’re out…moving about,
Never running in straight lines,
Whatever vectors in the blood and hair—
I know, too well, what such affections do.
Lines of stones not simply piled in walls,
Not only alongside roads—
Inside the heart, resting in the past,
Heavy weight collides with forward movement,
Circles… always gypsy circles in my life,
Haunted by the smells we love.


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