Half Border Collie, Half Black Strip.

 

Ruined. That's it. That makes the whole damn roll.

 
It's a sunset. In warm, declining light,


I tried for an extra print; got a black hole:


The dog is leaping for, poised in mid-flight.


An emblematic darkness swallowing


A Frisbee. There he stays, suspended in


The present tense, where night keeps following


A setting sun, as if he's always been


The final frame. Tomorrow, I pretend.


In hot pursuit, graceful as one can be,


I'll start anew. Today, I've come to the end.


Chasing after something I can't see.