Perhaps you breathe a sigh of relief.
But waiting, which is this?
A girl named Fern plucks the coiled cords of the instrument.
A soundboard transports far,
Away from the city street’s noise. You listen close
To what I have said.

Nothing guarantees, so thusly, I arrive.
I bring you the good answer
Before evening closes, myself hungry, starved for you.
But know! Sufficient time remains before midnight.
You throw a stern glance on me,
From time to time I recognize you want me,
And so, my white lily, my virtue,
Corrects our Scrabble game points, my impoverished score
So sorely reveals my paucity of aggression, my meager
Sense of winning, my loss over the game’s objective,
Other than merely to mingle together
On the floor, or over the kitchen table, over warm
Wine or silliness. Because the pages,
My collection of words, now collected by chance,
Gather in their booklet of sheet music. If for us dinner,
If I ask you formerly later, will you say
Yes? You seem not to include me,
To not understand me,
Ad you return my questions, my letters, with a frozen expression,
Before you solemnly incline the head your head,
Making gestures, yes, now is a pleasant time for dinner.
You examine me, from a far, this distance
The distance we’ve traveled from.
You ponder a certain thought, which, I think,
Can or not to be related to our dinner. I light
The light of the kitchen, open the door of refrigerator.
The radishes roll outside,
On the floor...

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Blog, or dog? Who knows.
But if you see my lost pup, please ping me!
http://journals.aol.com/virginiaz/DreamingofLeonardo