dogma

    the dogs run
    up the sides of mountains
    tongues hanging low
    some with noses full
    of porcupine quills
    some with clinging pups
    some matted and mangy
    and scarred and broken
    some dragging their
    fallen brothers and sisters
    daughters and sons
    some with pieces missing
    tattered ears bobbed tails
    some large and rangy
    some tiny, weak and slow
    some strain to pull trees
    bicycle racks and park benches
    some lope freely smiling like fools
    the dogs run
    up mountainsides
    and those who reach the top
    float off into the sky
    panting out clouds
    howling down the wind
    barking up the moon
      Michael McNeilley
      © 1997


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