I turn in the dark my own animal,

bricked, electric, my body exhausted

 

with our affair’s slow over-ing.

 

The radio preacher is almost singing

about smelling salts : there is a moment

            we take them and it stings

                        and we wake up,

                                   

                                    he almost sings

 

and it stings and we wake up

as we wake up to God

 

    It isn’t something we’d want to do every day…

 

I sit on the porch each night

like a child whose dog has run away,

 

and months later, believes

he will come home and calls for him

 

come home, dog lost a season now

and back perhaps from where he came,

 

some other home,  you called me home

I call your name into the dark

 

come home

# # #