Poets

oh the skein of raggle-taggle village dogs: trickly tails, stubbly legs, tough teeth fletching at the fence yours is the street, the dust on an asphalt hem yours the resonant night in the dormant valley

my dear: this is our pothole love our little border traffic awkward under tongues

who says that poems are like these dogs surrounded by their own echo at the village core of the waiting and pawing at half moon of the stubborn marking of language terrains -