Why the Dog No Longer Comes When I Call
The clouds run like rabbits
to dim the eye of heaven.
My feet like sea foam blur
as when wave meets shore.
I have become a skipping
stone too quick to be contained
by this mask of a man’s name.
My teeth are squirrel death;
they shred what ears
will no longer hear.
The clouds run like rabbits
to dim the eye of heaven.
My feet like sea foam blur
as when wave meets shore.
I have become a skipping
stone too quick to be contained
by this mask of a man’s name.
My teeth are squirrel death;
they shred what ears
will no longer hear.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson