Poem: White Dog


WHITE DOG  by Michael Burns

The white dog stops…
we breathe in for a minute and take in the universal breath

Its dark out here…
its black and darkly cold, out here

The wind it cuts the image from my eyes
And I watch it fall frozen and split like glass into the snow

This deep, and unwritten thing — waiting on edge
for a free life to write it
too large to see it all
deep back in there beyond my visions reach

The starry dingle…I begin, and

now I see it

I raise my head, to take in all this…

Scattered diamond dust on the top of Iron sky table
and shards and grainy rubies, sapphire blues split through the black

Glitter… and, the stuttering glitter

And Betelgeuse drags Orion higher…the father bears the weight of his children

And there about it all, those sparks from all those little fires

The white dog stops, and looks back green-eyed glowy still, on me and my little light

All that loud shining sound above his head

I stare back and he blinks…his closed eyes lose him in all that

The immortal knowledge fills me again

Spirit moves in peace and…I surrender to it

On and on — cold frigid and wind blows snaps out like open jaws
on the backside of this frozen northern slough

Looking back distantly behind me
a town asleep in glowing embers of its progression
and echoed detachment from all the real that surrounds it

Blue box light shines in every distant window
the faithful at their prayer in a strange religion

DOG AFTER AN OWL LOOKING FOR A MOUSE between frozen cattail

Thick ice I trust beneath my boot steps and water neath that too — I hear great wealth of life down there..dozing in and out of lengthy sleep and waiting the new green

The dog calls me on and not to stop — round the edge we go, on slippery legs and further into that void

Jagged long dead willow gnarled in dark twisted sketching lines and feckly shadows cast from a tiny light– and things look back and he and I look forward

I turn my lamp off and trusting, let the night swallow me whole

black cold embrace, it gently lifts

I hear the deep thrust into the trusting place of a wing, and smell of feathery memory as the hunter is headed home.

Walk on not knowing were the ground is and feel my legs lose their weight…

Roll around embraced of that eternity, and remember that I have always been

remembered and recalled from times on another place, another thing

and white dog pulls me back and reminds me we are on a mission here
to find the best spot

and I am blind to all but that above my head and the direction of a dog’s nose

White dog and the stars are my master now.