The Shaman’s Dog

Photo by Jonatan Pie on Unsplash

The shaman’s dog comes
and rests her head on my knee
as if she sees my condition:
puddled here in weird shapes and colors
played out like an old guitar.

In times before, I was tight knit, wound up
I knew things or things knew me
I went places and acted on the world
I was “I.”
Now the sight of a sunset undoes me
for days.