dog

“where'd you get that from?”

“it was lost.”

“it has to stay outside.”

"i know.”

tie it to the cherry blossom

to watch your hours through the screen door:

needless, aimless, ornamental.

hang a hallowed noose, lift it up, leave it

so there's something soft that smiles

when you come home.

through the windowglass,

no eye contact, in a frosted morning —

drinking slow from warm cup:

“it's trying to chew through the chain again.”

teach it to haunt you better,

to go where you please.

out of sugar, rations

don't extend to the thing in the yard.

docile, kept, collared.

still wide-eyed while you tend the garden

beyond reach of the lead,

happy for your glimmering fruits

and how well they know your hands.

“you could probably bind it up real nice. pin the spirits to a stake, like vines.”

“should you be talking to it like that?”

“probably not, but at least it's quiet.”

“does it even know any tricks or anything?”

“just the one, and that's just fine.”

“you'll have to kick it at night if it cries.”

it readies its ribs,

belly-up

for impact.

“aren't you sad that it thinks

you're its mother?”