The Density of Yarn

My dog is a nihilist,straight up savage,complacent enoughto stick pushpins in the ground.

He knows earth is hollowjust like his holes are hollowand the promise of bones andsquirrel fodder is biblical,mystic – mythic.

There is nothing here for him,so we sit and make a tapestry,stand up,let it flow, butit’s so heavy.

I am so weakand dogs don’t have thumbs.He barks at me, stubborn.Thumbs are a myth –

We weave chaos,making yarn from dirtand nothing.