He could not have been more active in his pursuance,
as it now bordered on harassment depending on how she saw things;
and if he knew that, none of this would be of issue.

The force which kept him on
was an impatience stirred by the fear he might forget,
the feeling of unsure consequence and fear of regret
progressing without tomorrow,

that he might one day write,

"I am no longer
able to love,
able to love her
–one in the same."


[We pick up from as far back as he remembered.]

"If here
my life were to only loving her,
I would accept that.

I have my faults.
I try not deny them.
I address.

But I will never know...
I'll never know why things must occur the way they do."

And then the dog entered with nasal intones, wimperings of 'walk.'


After a couple minutes of enticing the stubborn stay of his dog to give.

"Food. Come on buddy."

There'd be glances up from a nose,
its wanting to sense,
and fur-covered skin in the crease of sunlight near the shade of the overhang above the screen door
and for the same reason.

But he needed to get back inside
to be
entertained by all this...
we take for granted.

'Perhaps the mutt knew something he didn't,'
was the acerbic baying as he retired.