indolent, half-lifted eyelid. A tail wagged drowsily. A half-whine of acknowledgment. A limp, reluctant handshake and taunting dejection on not getting the promised biscuit. A quiet, piercing stare as the clock strikes six that hour of his business. An ambling unconcerned walk, immune to tugs on the leash and no interest in thrown balls. Fingers clasped firmly in teeth, a demonstration of power that was right now not being used. Hungry, innocent eyes pleading for dinner, not counting the meal consumed minutes ago. The quiet snore, teeth half-exposed in warning to let sleeping dogs lie. Just like the quiet vacuum unfilled by furry memories of the dog who tore my heart .
The message is supreme;
Born in the heart,
and lilting itself
from tongue to tongue,
throwing its scent
over wind and wave;
travelling on dots
or fingers
when blindness
or silence bar its way.
It hews itself into stone
or burns itself onto magnetic discs;
it is the message that lives
and I exist
solely to pass it on.