The dog yelps, circles wildly. Finally it subsides, departs swaying as if filled with venom from the bite of a nameless moment already covered in white. I smell hour old coffee, sit down, turn the final page of some bad poetry. I still find it hard to believe one of your breasts I loved so well, carried you beneath the earth. It s time to shower, dress, walk to church.
Love creates religion.
How holy we had become.