I’m not going to the dogs
though dogs generally like me.
I’m going out of touch.
Deep sleep. Obscure.
Past the moors and the mossy boulders.
I doubt the rain will make a difference,
no matter how hammer-loud, how cold.
The windows are shuttered.
The door, locked.
This is not a forsaking, but a finish.
In some ways you may not understand,
there is a greater darkness and a lesser darkness.