love, just imagine the boat you could build
if only you had the time,
the peace and quiet, and reassurance
from someone with nothing to gain.
if only you knew the anatomy of seafaring vessels.
take out your thread and twine,
your chisel, your spade,
your notebooks with incoherent scrawlings
accumulated over the years.
beg the dog to stay quiet,
even if he has to sneeze.
tell him all you need is an hour today,
and another tomorrow,
and so on, until
the landscape before you
is coaxed into being,
until the fog curls back,
and the boats can be unmoored.
he will stay quiet for you, will sleep soundlessly for you,
and will be at the door
when you emerge
from your locked room,
his sable colored tail thumping the oak floor
in the language of dogs.