Saturday, December 24, 2011

Bullet Kiss

Gunshot merging gone, I found her

the vet’s curtain waves breezily
like a Spanish matador’s cape

early she always burrowed her
moist black nose under my arm

lifting it high as the door latch
I’d soon be lifting for her—

early at the river we’d watch
sun rays surf  atop driftwood

only  high grade green earth past
the Venetian blind’s crinkling V

David S. Pointer

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