Ding’s Vigil

A ferocious

whirling gust of high-pitched


gale force wind


ripping ’round the shingled

northeast corners of a

weather-worn cape,

coiled tightly

into a sunken fury ball

a lying dog squeaks

and groans,

pressing harder

with every howl

she nuzzles ‘gainst her master’s

wooden, louvered door

fixed on the calming rhythms

of his long slow

pulling breaths

and sudden, deep, releasing sighs

yearning for the moment

when his gentle snores

will cease,

the door

will crack,

and a stormy morning light

will pierce the dark,

as another day

among her happy pack


pixilated pause


I get the urge

to tap things out

across my hard

black plastic keyboard

I dedicate the mission

to dissolving

my deflector shield

into a wordoc pool of

pixelated details

of this one


snapshot moment,

a pinpoint


in the poetry

of time passing