When my person comes home late,
and I have the choice:
to curl into sleep I know is good
or into their arms and conspiratorial
whispers, I almost always forget
the tired days, my solemn vow
to crawl into dreams as soon as I can.
In the face of the vows we keep
together. I am forgetting
how it felt to be lonesome
first and foremost. I am able
to get by with fewer dreams
now that I am not all longing.
and knowing better.
And still wanting it.
I resort to walking alone
to the dog park.
I borrow children’s stuffed animals
and ask them to play pretend.
I try to convince friends with dogs
to go on vacation where they can’t take their dogs.
I keep myself from animal shelters.
You nuzzle it, you buy it.
The heart is a lonely hunter.
How cruel it is born
a poor hunter.
It starts without skill
and bad tracking instincts.
Insists on trapping
when it should hold,
loosely.
Approach gently.
Common Poem 