All of our dogs are buried in the backyard

All of our dogs are buried in the backyard

One is under the apple tree

One is at the new house

I asked you for the photo albums

But you must not have heard me.

Or maybe you buried them too

Ashtrays and limericks remind me time will pass soon

Until then, I am little, maybe seven

And he asks me if I can hold my breath all the way to the bottom

It is deep, maybe 15 feet, maybe 100

But your smile, in exchange for the cold mud I sink my hands into and bring to you, is the buried treasure I crave

I want to be very special

But sometimes I feel I was conditioned to be very sad,

When my little lungs start to ache, and staying above water is a tiring ambition

Mud returns to the cold floor of the world

And I am little

But, me and you,

we can lay on the dock together,

Against our pre dispositions and needs for attention

In the water we are mermaids, and in the sun our souls spin

The thing about the chase, is there’s no way to win