to give the thing a name that belongs to something else

            I whom the dogs trust 
     dog you all night 
                                       under my arm

 
   so many new years days
                                                      to mark per year
                                    my fingers hurt
   
                  from stroking the sun

                                these sulky strays 
                 lick 
                           my tongues 
                       my hurts clean 

                                         as an echo 
               rippling through the valley


                      how can I thank them?
                                    where will you be then?

Subscribe to the Poem-a-Day Podcast 

  

“I wanted to get to the heart of one who has many tribes, many languages, yet feels alone. Or: and therefore feels alone. Loneliness couldn’t be the end of it, though. Hope and absolution had to be offered, even if as questions without answers.”
—Hao Guang Tse