little greyhound
when did your limbs become so long
and what is this frozen moment
claws spreading and reaching
gently reaching toward hopes
beyond reconciliation and
you: from all angles skating
over air
a study in sinew
and still reaching
still: why the aerodynamicity
when you were not meant to be
the point of a bullet
you used to call to the doves
feed them crumbs through the
window back when the sun would wane
so tenderly and slowly that those
at its mercy would rejoice
drying the ocean at the roots of their hair
and you would too
with your newly scarred knuckles
with the same hands
wishing away the doves
because the fire had finally
leaked through your pores
and the doves
in their gentleness you feared
would become comets at your fingertips