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