29 June 2009

hurray for you, bulldog

she startles at night
whirr of wing beats wild
ignites
where bombs are laid beneath
old hay wasted
& limbs
will be lost beneath
the big gray bay
you
only wish for the small
& regular things
sounds of rain on the roof—
the old stone wall,
calling birds in the courtyard,
just enough
wine to rinse out the taste

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