Dog Days

Toward the twisted rift we set out like lost dogs
unaware of the future of mankind, only of its scent -
its comings and goings in forlorn delusion
and the trails left in the winds and the soft dry dirt.
And when we met the sea, the trail went cold
as the bottom of that ocean in the heart where
the currents swell and swirl and carry creatures of
unknowable description to far off landscapes
of caves and mountains and valleys and plains.
We could not know that place, dared not know that place
for it was filled with all of us already.
And so we slinked and staggered back the way we came -
tripping over one another further and further from
that water’s edge, noses to the ground, our tails hung low.
We followed the unnatural order of our wanderings
under shadows and moonlight and time passed
and the dirt gave way and the oceans grew
and the planets bloomed and we were no longer
of ourselves or for ourselves but simply this.