for Moss

 

 

 

 

but i loved that diversion 

of two years, calling the names

of my dogs, watching them dash

past the seam of shade 

to me by the sheltering tree.

i even loved the crater 

of months after, jobless nights

running solo by the river, 

willing the water to babble 

something of my loneliness

back to me. what clings now

is a little texture, the soft fur

of my favourite’s head, 

the dark water wrinkled 

like beancurd. i know, 

being nobody, none of these things

were sent to bless me. 

in my carelessness i walk 

into joy like a lamp post. 

bam! time is whatever

I thought it might fit the theme because it seemed too self-indulgent—a prosaic recounting of my NS experience that could be of interest to nobody. The kind of thing you’d automatically tune out in conversation…

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