t h e  d o g

The dog eating embers as they’re spat 

from the fire and the other creatures

leaning against one another 

bind their crooked shapes into a mass,

intractable as a carefully laid hedge,

their chants -- more like coughs --

are wracked with broken lungs

(all the more vulnerable when viewed

through a mask of smoke). A pool

of muddy water giving oil black

in the dark. The dog that eats embers 

as they’re spat from the fire. Chews them

into sparks. Breathes them down its throat.