mostly we live in our senses
breath on breath,
skin, the body moving through space.
the rain is falling into a canopy of overhead branches
through the leaves, against my face
on my little old dog and I,
our feet pattering against the pavement
the orange sky fading along the horizon
her muddy, wet fur,
water in my eyes, on my skin,
soaking my hair, clothes, shoes, everything.
not just tonight,
something detonated this restless stirring
longing spark of disquieting questions
here in the rain, at night, beside this little old dog.