Unmediated experience
She does this thing. Our seventeen-
year-old dog. Our mostly deaf dog.
Our mostly dead dog, statistically
speaking. When I crouch.
When I put my mouth to her ear
and shout her name. She walks away.
Walks toward the nothing of speech.
She even trots down the drive, ears up,
as if my voice is coming home.
It’ s like watching a child
believe in Christmas, right
before you burn the tree down.
Every time I do it, I think, this time
she’ ll turn to me. This time
she’ ll put voice to face. This time,