Sustenance -

The sky above was riddled with light
as if the cloud-cloth were man-made,
strung then shot by the thousand daily hopes
we generate.
That energy must go somewhere.
Why not up? Why not then?
The cottonwood had shed itself
into the air,
a million drifting promises crossing beams of sunfall,
crossing your sight.
Response?
The rottweiler panted heavily,
pressing herself between our legs,
barely big enough to lift her paws,
old enough to seek
affection, sleep, food.
Grendel muzzled my ankle,
snuffling for attention;
I watched the sky, the motes from the trees.
Her contentment was simpler to fulfill.
Need and desire held no distinction.
Slowly, my fingers moved for you.
They met her nose,
and I looked down.

The sparrow on the tracks struggles
for flight,
tiny contractions of sinew add up
to the lifting and ruffling
he know has known all his life.
The train arrives.
Without touching trail,
I know why he left. It is for the same reason
men quest.

When dogs dream,
we see their twitchings,
their moaning implorations
and we smile.
It must be a rabbit in
some imagined field,
warm food, children, a home.
But what if our pets
dream
deeply.
Seek liquid dispersal at moonlit shores,
run frightened from horses without eyes,
crawl in small spaces in search of air,
find their souls.
I know that labradors cringe at thunder,
that Grendel growls long
at patches of light.

Anchors and wings.
Anchors and wings.
Our souls are always seeking anchors and wings.

You sneezed as a seedlet
caught your nose,
I laughed.
I watched your smile develop
in the patchy light,
moving towards me like your hand.
I would have kissed you,
but Grendel was barking at something,
a finch that had flown from the tracks.