Guzlowski-Stepek: The Never-ending Poem

I sit near the window. the room has no roof. a dog sits with me and we snuggle to mitigate the damned harsh wind.  I don’t know what I want. Four walls around me?  To know home? To be on a couch  rather than a soiled, brick-strewn floor? I can’t see the dog. He's snuffling around the ruins, doesn’t know me,  but he cares for me. If I moaned with pain would he hear me?  God doesn't. I’m homeless pretending this is  something else,  a place of  peace and safety, there are probably dead bodies under the rubble,  flowers crushed before they could bloom.

H ome I sit near the window. Outside somewhere  a dog barks,  his call a dark hard wind.  I don’t know what he wants.   To be in here with me?  To be alone?  To be with someone  that neither he nor I know? I can’t see the dog.   He can’t see me,  doesn’t know me,  doesn’t wonder about me.   If I growled would he hear me?  Probably not. I’m home  pretending this is  somewhere else,  a place of  peace and dreams,  springs that last and bring forth  flowers no eyes have seen.  

I make a sandwich nothing fancy two slices of the cheapest white bread and the cheapest peanut butter job done. It's not for me. It's for the badgers. They come into the garden every night. They are our guests. The fox comes sometimes too. Let me correct something. They are not our guests. We are theirs. Now let me correct that. None of us are guests. This is home for us all.