The dog fight on the hill comes to me in winds-
And when I raise my head- the ground has a swell-
The look ahead- something we think we have is her
Allowance- she takes it by bending the river- or-
Like here- raising a hill- but she is kind green peace-
Gives hint- can see the bark- can hear the tail wag-
Can feel the drool- in the air and touch-
The world is a dog fight and it begins with a witness
Down the hill- when monsoon follows somatic winters-
She and the trees droop bend lend an ear of squirrel home-
And drop an oops of bird's nest- so that you never drift into
a black soliloquy- the world is a dog fight; it ends with
a high yelp up in the hill.
~Ajay
15/12/18
YOU ARE READING
seaboyman ~ poetry
Poetry~ is that not the perfect visual image of life and death / a fish flapping on the carpet and a fish not flapping on the carpet ~
