Litany of Departures
Afterdamp of April, evening thaws.
A hungry mutt
yowls a bruised gospel,
its body a dying star—
throat aflame with want.
Night thickens
with the reek of things unwanted
by heaven. An owl calls to a hole
in the sky where the moon once fit.
Wolves circle this village,
snatch blind children mid-street.
Lord, make me the hound
that crawls beneath the porch to rot.
Let me return home, alone,
unravel each worn ligament
from bone, dissolve
into this tilted hour.
*First published in Dialogist.
Comments
Lovely
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Beautiful poem
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Well penned and sad.
Regina
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So good, Sarah! I love this :
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Great imagery, well crafted
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"a bruised gospel"
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