Lynne Potts

D. and Dog

D. consciously left temporarily the death idea kept

as dogs in houses. Phenomenal D. did. Who could

fathom it on a scale of empty? Nothing fit.

D. on a cliff above the Pacific, dog close by dead

certain while D. with nostalgia returns to the precipice

drawn inescapably as he meant to keep the dog

housed in plywood with a door that said Dog.

Count. You’d think you’d get somewhere but no

D. doesn’t count, period. D. tethered to his dog

knew any way was stripped of sense. And if

you find the Pacific symbolic, it’s because you too

know a dog’s house and maybe want out. Then

be careful walking to the edge as D. did with his dog

barely. Be satisfied as D. with his kept dog is.

First published in The Yale Review