To My DogIn the twilight on the verge of spring,To My Dog by solaric
my dog is a long, eager shape,
darker than the darkness.
High-stepping to a tense elegance,
his legs rise and fall,
swift and regular:
a tireless pace to devour the miles.
He is compounded of shadows,
fading more invisible
with each second of oncoming dusk.
Imperceptible and steady
he advances –
I glimpse the wolves that were his fathers’ fathers.
In the midst of blackness,
one paw is white,
pale enough to capture every reflected light –
a magic foot, tracing one bright beam
along our path.
He is like a creature from another world.
In the power of his motions
the graceful flash of his white paw,
I sense it:
a territory where the chemistry of scent and sound
create a rich atmosphere, a strange aura
beyond the limits of vision.
In the darkness, running,
he is transformed to quintessence:
the night is a smooth-muscled dog
with one moonlight foot.
AtlasLove is the weight of the universe…Atlas by solaric
a massive thing,
ten kilograms raised to the sixtieth power.
(Scientists haven’t even begun to estimate its heaviness.)
It presses on our shoulders;
crushes us into the bedrock
—again and again—
we lie as dust under the vasty wheel
until a wind stirs up
a soul to recreate us.
All those lightyears of space and time,
the endless abyss of dark matter:
wait for our response
as we rise anew each day
from the ground.
The galaxy is a great spiral with its focus on man.
He staggers and it tilts;
the center of gravity shifts
with every step.
We reach out to embrace each other
with great arms of the Milky Way.
Are you amazed by our struggle?
living under all this pressure.
Like divers in Marianas trenches,
our bones creak with a responsibility
to exert the utmost care.
Some think the universe will keep grinding
its way into eternity—
calm and unperturbed by tiny human beings.
WinterIn darkness your figure moves against the fire,Winter by solaric
Alive in dancing flickers, shooting sparks
Like comets in the night: glowing they aspire
Amid the falling snow. The eye marks
The contrast; the flakes aslant in the furnace glow
And hiss on ardent steel. A fog is breathed
Into the night, ascending in a curling flow
Toward the high pines. We two are wreathed
In this atmosphere: cold fills our lungs
And melted snow gathers on hair and coats.
This is winter, when flame climbs the rungs
Of heaven’s stair and misty vapor floats
Like mystic symbols drawn for us to read
Alone in the night, where quiet peace is freed.
AutumnOld roan horseAutumn by solaric
come up from the river:
plant each foot
to blossom the cold
in shining, spangling frost.
in season, you have
slow clip, swing step,
you keep your suitable rhythm
your smattering coat;
and flame to red in the sun.
True, you're old,
but growing graceful.
inlay on your bones:
your skin is a royal mantle.
There you move
a horse in the field:
from dreams of glory,
you are the color of the end.