Dog tired, we two let night’s chill
air wrap us: him splayed out flat
like a six-figured hand, me

in my blue chair & nothing else
separates us. Earlier, Oscar was
sniffing through the fields, bright pollen

from the tall grasses & weeds
dotting his nose & then there’s my face
always stained with the search.

Leaves against the night sky
are just leaves, but against the night sky.
Listen: I remember our recent walk

as if it were ten years ago. Then
the answers, at least, were negotiable.
The same moon would have been shining

as it is, as it was, as it will be & that moon’s
loitering is like a leash in my hand,
holding back something that would run

to the only light in a dark field & stay.

Nate Pritts
from his book Honorary Astronaut
Ghost Road Press 2008.
Used by permission of the poet.