Black Dog howled.
He scraped the mud off of his paws.
He catalogued where he buried bones.
Yesterday’s howl investigated
a shrine to shame
and the submission of the weak hearted.
Today’s dried mud
preserves patterns of the down trodden
and the path to misplaced feelings.
Tomorrow’s bones
will record the ancient manner of fear
and the failure of moving past failure.
Black Dog howled.
He scraped mountains down to the sea.
He catalogued a million triumphs.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
