Day 7

Challenge: Try 10 x 20 (10 syllable lines, 20 of them)


The dog is fifteen, deaf and somewhat blind. 
She huffs and pants, has to heave herself up 
with groans, skitters on our slick floors, slips cat-
astrophically with stick legs that don’t 

bend under dinosaur bulk. Bulbous growths
sprout through dulling fur -- she nibbles them 
raw with yellow teeth. One mile an hour is 
her new top speed. No matter what she eats, 
she leaks toxic gas. It hangs over her 

sprawl in a corrupt halo. I have to 
wonder if she’s still here or if she’s un-
leashed, floating lost dog days, running in her doze 
through dewy fields, a shiny black arrow 
of joy, flushing birds, sun glinting from sleek 

sides. No matter. Wherever she is, she 
still makes her way back, lit with a love that 
breaks through cloudy eyes, shivers, rubs itself
into us, snorting and wild, pure timeless
ecstasy, soul, our unearned redemption.