Issue 154, Spring 2000
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.