I must find you a new name,

for Black Dog implies

I can have you put down,

that I can smile and take your flea

bitten arse to a lonely place

in the woods and let you howl

all you want because the only

creatures you’ll attract

are the woodpeckers, black bears

and worms.

 

But what is the point in it all,

the dream of existing, of being,

when the woodpecker can peck

just as hard and the black bear

is as hungry as ever,

as it roars in a forest

terrified still

of the timber wolves

and where the worms

will ravage your soul;

in the cold light of dying

March days, where April

Springs forward,

the cold and dark

of Winter lays still too close to haunt.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016