Guglielmo

As much my own as I am my owner’s
hand to me is good & I’m young
as Hercules. the face I think I see is mine.

I wake up and am good at shouting I’m
twenty twistings of my years around her
fingers. a little dizziness pushes me onto

her & we talk until my ears unhook from the wall.
my windows rattle at the lungs of
the gloomy thunder breeze. she swings me to rest.

arriving at the park I am pleading like
the sugar in early carrots. I outrun the
other dogs despite my asthma. I catch

smells: lemons, beaujolais, golfing
I rest like a glove left on the grass. ants
make no music across me

I drink in little sips to resemble her
I must not bite I hush I must dig carefully
designed holes in the ground I cannot attend
the events of my language

I burst cardinals in my mouth and the red pieces
tickle my cuticles like perfume

I am shredded with her
& pierced from the top of my heart until
the sun falls down the stairs
in the dark my eyes are yellow and kicked open.

near her mouth, I used to be a wolf
I sweat and she sees tears, there are six hours
until she wakes

I fight the other dogs, I am her invention
in the room of my life my eyes are
clean as the water between sharks.
the blood on the other dog’s mouth is not mine

I am the sum of the smell of sulfur,
smolder, selflessness & the names
you give me before we sleep
in all the languages I cannot vote in,

my sky is like a cheerleader marooned in the air
my mind rests like a dozen handsome pilots

I am half ghost and half ghost
my thoughts are flushed from my skin by your hand I am
in the tomorrow of your hand &
your calm world is mine