Mangy dog humping the earth,
his black-red eyes follow me like sword to heart.

At first he was just–a dog,
but then he said my name, over and over
a hundred thousand times at once,
the force of his knowing like a thunder-
bolt in the belly.

How many nights must he hunt me,
nose raised to entrap my essence,
so that sweat fouls the sweetness
and all my fetid carcasses are undug
from the soil of my soul.

No muzzle or chain can contain him.
He is far too wild for training.

Mangy dog, humping the ground,
his shadow stands guard at the edge
where both known and unknown fall
before his raping maw.

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It is the night-time
which loosens our hearts from
the anchor of day
where everything
must hold
its own face
to the world,

but now,
now in the darkness
the senses descend like midnight mist

a palpable primordialness,

as if the ancient night has
dissolved all scales that deaden touch
and the scars caused by a shell
outgrown but not discarded.

And here,
here in the darkness,
we are adrift on the sea of formlessness,

able to perceive what lies

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I want to become
worthy
of every Love bestowed
on me.

Worthy, not in conforming into
another image or object of desire,
Worthy, not based on attraction
because of goodness or badness,
Worthy, not acting under pressure
to be or not to be, to love or not to love,

but
worthy
of the Potential I know I am,
just as every mother sees the world
alight in the eyes of her child,
and as every lover feels the soul
on fire with the kiss of the other,

so I want to marry
Passion to Action
and find that, in reality,

worthy of Loving
is
worthy of Living.

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