The expedition was late getting off. Something about the ship’s dog not wanting to leave her litter, biting the man who pulled her away. He died. The dog wept to the mad, peeking moon as she stood on deck, telling the navigator to put down his sextant and take truth only from her. Her pups would survive, she
/ knew /
/ prayed /
/ hoped /
as she participated in a study of inexact equivalency. Scudding clouds prove gentle winds—racing, violence of the spheres.
We did not search for your grave but
/ stumbled /
/ fell /
/ cried /
in astonishment at the mound in the tundra. Your madness so long hidden, now found. The dog, still in the throes of her
/ kidnapping /
/ theft /
/ forced exile /
savaged the earth until her beautiful black paws bled. Your claws on my face, my feet never fast enough. Every morning at your table, every hard shove of your hand. And then your empty eye sockets, crooked teeth my spinning mind arranged into a sweet smile the dog doubted was the real you.