A Strange Dog
by

Emptiness spreads.
A growl like
a death rattle,
I hear in the darkness.
I throw my eyes out.

Its tail wags
through the centuries
as our gene
journeys through
the generations.

Its hue is white
like my dad’s heart.
Love seems burning bright
in its brownish eyes.

A strange dog.

It rides its nose up
a waste hill
of paper plates.
Its saliva, as my dad’s
craving for life,
falls down and
dissolves in soil.

It is not a ghost,
but a deep love’s ….

Now silence is
our *lingua franca.

First printed in issue#6, The Literary Hatchet.

*a common language between speakers whose native languages are different.

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