Into Rack and Ruin and Tumbling
You could fall forever into his eyes.
Into rack and ruin and tumbling.
Not a man. No Lothario. That dog.
A best friend with a dog-eared smile
makes life easily complete. He’s there,
looking in – at a pile of bones picked
very clean. But a bone is a bone
whether it’s picked or not, so he
waits. Shoulders and breath, rooted
in snowy fields. Waits. Throat, chin,
and eyebrows frosted in white hair.
Pick a bone with me, he smiles –
Those eyes you could forever fall into.