The Dog

Your life is mine —
the shadow calls.
Wet panic of the flight through foam.
The swell will be your soundless home;
a trough to offer death and calm.

Come down and sleep —
beneath the wave,
membrane of the wailing deep.
Let drop your failing limbs and breathe,
to rest in dust and silent cave.

Lie now and dream —
among these bones,
of all that you have left above;
the voices that your heart has loved,
that cry your name through time unknown.

Defy the end, embrace the cry,
black wonder of the yellow morn.
Cast your eyes into the storm,
and climb to light —
and climb to sky.

— Thomas LaVoy