How I feel during winter / Claustrophobia

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The Black Dog’s Grave

 

 

 

The red dog accompanies me to the black dog’s grave,

atop the endless southern plain, to a spot accessible in snow

or mud, and therefore popular for dumping carcasses.

To dig a grave for an elk or a deer would be absurd

and the litter of bones from past years’ hunts

surrounds our two figures, caught between the ground

that conceals our friend’s body and a warning written

on the lid of his winter coffin: “Wyoming is such an odd place,

where no one will expect you to be anything at all.”

 

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