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And the perfect day dissolved intothe perfect nightand youand the parsed verb.extraordinary and sanguine.i wandered onto the roof terraceto watch the moonslowly undress behind cloudsforsaken she still shinesin the lightof a distant sun and findsme a captive audienceof one.one is not quite accurateover there in the corneris a white dog who knowsmy name.he has been following me fordays and i don't yet knowif he is malevolenthis eyes are blue. he wears a midnightblack , no a red not a white bandanahe is transparent or obvious only to mehe knows my name(how does he know myname and can i afford toignore it, i think, while the moonis out there dancing on the edgeof the sky and the stars are weeping with joy or sadness, i keep glancingor listening buthe is not going to tell meis he?)
 
the shrillness.the overt comma.the time of waiting for loveit has ended and there is a whitedog who knows my name andhas been following me for daysand i suddenly know why.'this time you picked the wronggirl' i tell him.i don't scare so easy.
III) white dog
He usually shows up in that crackof time between adventuresor lovers.he looks at me with his blue eye andsays nothing.irregardless of the numberof times i have documented myauthenticity; ignore the testimonialsthe trail of good deeds and spiritual reclamations,ignore the love that pursues meor waits for my signal.Ignore the regretful renegotiationswith god.the empty silence tellsthe story here.white dog always shows upwhen i forget to fill the spaces. he knows i am running for my life.
 
II .Possible conversations with a white dog
but of course it mattersit matters that you don't rememberit matters that the only thing youassociate with the closing sound of a door issome mixture of desire and fearit matters that you are here and stilltherewhere the white dogwaits for you to comefollowing you everywherein the day or night orwhen you are sleeping, wanderingtowards the night worldhe wanted to follow you herehe knows that he cannot beseen by anyone butyou.you fed him for years and he is still hungry.you have beencutting out the small pieces of your heartand throwing them past him,hoping to give him the slip.this time you turn aroundlook into his blue blue eyes'not this time'you say.
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This is a powerful metaphor, I love it Sarita.

i like the white dog photos because this specific dog in the photo was on the rooftop next to mine in Arequipa peru .. he used to bark incessantly every morning even though he saw me up there every single day. I had been writing the Biker Poet God poems and had gotten stuck when this image of a white dog who was following me, wanting something from me appeared ... i took this photo of him, and did

all the artwork in not only this poem but also some of the other ones that followed.. i am quite proud of the photos because they were so much a part of the process of the poem itself..

Voting? Include the white dog. ( Sans pictures) The imagery in the white dog poems is strong, universal but also a glimpse into your soul.

I actually think the pictures are important, as are the poems themselves-- I like them especially.

goosebumps! I always get them when something really gets to me.............

I would be "offended" if you left these out!! But if I need to emphasise, you must include the "what he said" one - that has a marvellous atmosphere in a small space.

After two reads I think you're right about the order - the present second one (previous III) seems more transitional to me - mind you there is something provisional about the ending of the whole trilogy too as it stands - at least as I read it. Technicalities aside though, this is terrific, wonderfully atmospheric (even without the lovely photos) - I really do love this, sarita, it gets in under m

aa this is my fave.. but do what your heart tells you to do.. I always go with my first instinct.. ..hehe..hugs

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