Ominous as a Closed Fist

Napoleon didn't show up for breakfast Monday morning nor at any point in the day for food and water or when we walked in the evening and, home after, opened doors and called him before we tried to sleep, we'd held him Sunday night, he only disappeared for 24 hours

Weird, unusual, our anxiety, but this time both Earthgirl and I overwhelmed with ominous worry, Earthgirl couldn't sleep at all, but at her 230 in the morning open the door every half an hour and hope opening the door there he was

*He* hasn't left the yard since, runs his snaggle-toothed self to any door we open any time we open a door, something spooked the fuck out of him and he forgot his way home from as far as he ran like each of us have done, do, and will do with increasing frequency and severity but only if we are fuck lucky

This getting old shit. Getting old shit this. Old shit this getting. Shit this getting old.

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CLOUD NO BIGGER THAN A MAN'S HAND

Dick Allen

It approaches from the sea, too small

For thunder and lightning

But ominous as a closed fist

And what it will bring

Nearing us, growing larger,

Is completely unknown.

Beware the leaves blowing, beware

The spot on the sun.

All is turned toward it. It rides

The brow of the mind.

Soon, it will shadow one cliff

And a small coastal shrine.

Beware the leaves blowing, beware

The spot on the sun.

Do your work well. Behold

The work yet to be done.