That last night, as I walked miles from my
Broken car with a blister stinging on
My left foot, a dog mourned a lonesome howl
Into the darkness of the shard of moon.
He sniffed along the gravel shoulder of
The old country highway. His dark fur could
Hardly be seen in the distance except
From the corner of my eye. But the faint
Green light of his stare so much like the light
That often woke me puddled in sweat. His
Presence brought a chill. Or was it the cold
Wetness of the wind through the roadside pine,
And the vision of a man watching from
The woods and my blood warming his wet hands?