Dog Thinks of Trakl

The dark fir, snow, haunted
evening light reminds Dog

of Georg Trakl’s poetry which master
reads aloud now and then, “blackness,

silence and snow” although

it isn’t exactly silent, the car stereo
across the street battering obnoxiously, still

Dog is filled with inexpressible sorrow
and an inexhaustible appetite for young

wine. Out of the darkness and would-be

silence, the companionship of a forest-hemmed
tavern beckons. The young wine, pats

on the head, maybe even a belly scratching.
But the car leaves, and silence does now descend,

and along with it, the “blue grief of evening.”