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Description
From Which My Dog Drinks

Small hollow half-sphere
of glimmering silver,
scratched and scathed from
years of use.
It holds it in
so carefully,
like a pair of angel’s hands,
only colder, glued together.

It twists and turns,
’round and ’round its strange-shaped prison,
keeping the form of its captor

but

never

staying still.

A domesticated river
awaiting someone’s—
something’s—
hungering mouth.
Lapping up this poor-man’s ambrosia,
it is satisfied.
This is my dog
and the water bowl
from which my dog drinks.

Description
From Which My Dog Drinks

Small hollow half-sphere
of glimmering silver,
scratched and scathed from
years of use.
It holds it in
so carefully,
like a pair of angel’s hands,
only colder, glued together.

It twists and turns,
’round and ’round its strange-shaped prison,
keeping the form of its captor

but

never

staying still.

A domesticated river
awaiting someone’s—
something’s—
hungering mouth.
Lapping up this poor-man’s ambrosia,
it is satisfied.
This is my dog
and the water bowl
from which my dog drinks.