I Should Go To Bed But Can't Seem To Stop

My dog's eyes are two black, sad caverns

longing for my touch.
Late into the darkness I linger
knowing she will someday die.

My fingers explore the field of fur on her back
the way my brother and I once crawled
through the hay field staying 

far below the line of sight
where we could feel the earth;
my fingers slowly rushing through.

There is a barrier of pain
that punctuates all relations.
My dog feels the subtle shift 

of my weight as I make to leave 

for bed-- she begins her low whimper,
nuzzles deeper into my lap.

And I stay. For to go to bed
would be a kind of death.

This is the fifth draft, posted above.


My dog's eyes two sad caverns

longing for my touch
late into the darkness I linger
knowing she will someday die.

My fingers explore her fur-field
the way my brother and I once crawled
through the hay field staying 

far below the line of sight
where we could feel the earth,
my fingers slowly rushing through.

There is a barrier of pain
that punctuates all relations.
My dog feels the subtle shift 

of my weight as I make to leave 

for bed-- she begins her low whimper,
nuzzles deeper into my lap.

And I stay. For to go to bed
would be a kind of death.

This is the fourth draft (posted above), tweaked on July 31, 2019. Only minor changes, but I think somewhat significant, 


My dog's eyes two sad caverns
longing for my touch
late into the darkness I linger
knowing she will someday die.

My fingers explore her fur-field
the way my brother and I  once crawled
through our hay field
staying far below the line of sight
where we could feel the earth,
my fingers slowly rushing through.

There is a barrier of pain
that punctuates all relations.
My dog feels the subtle shift of my weight
as I make to leave for bed
she begins the low whimper,
nuzzles deeper into my lap.

And I stay. For to go
to bed would be a kind of death.


3rd Draft (written on Tuesday October 23, 2018). Originally drafted on June 10, 2018 and redrafted on Monday October 15th (see below). Major edits made from the 2nd to 3rd draft including stanza changes and removals and word changes throughout.



I Keep Petting My Dog Sport Knowing I Should Go to Bed But Can't Seem To Stop For Some Reason I Know Goes Beyond this Earth


We are like tenants that want to be owners.
The vapor of life can sting
or boar a hole through.

A wooded night with no fire
embedded in the rural stone house
in Rhode Island where things went to die
in the cadaver pond I would later examine;
my dog's eyes (Sport) two sad caverns
longing for my touch
late into the darkness I linger
knowing she will someday die
as my fingers explore her fur-field
the way my brother and I once
crawled through our hay field
staying just below the line of sight
where we could feel the earth,
my fingers slowly rushing through.

Arthur Jones, the exercise equipment inventor,
longed to discuss truth but realized
having a meaningful conversation
is the pinnacle of impossibilities.

There is a barrier of pain
that punctuates all relations.

Speaking to her.
Wanting to giver her good news
that comes from God's
very own mouth.


2nd Draft. Originally drafted on June 10, 2018 with some major edits including the addition of most of the second stanza.