Amid all the sighing, the tears and the waiting, 
the unreal balance of boredom and dread 
in the restless pacing of his next of kin, 

a melee ensues from under the covers—

a dispossessed hamlet of sunken peripheries 
and imploding contours, where the windswept rattle 
and rust of decay are the only signs of industry. 

Soon, all the dogs of his life will come running in 
from the countryside trailing their leashes, at long-last 
free to roam in feral, headlong packs; while long-lost loves 

sit gently at the bedside, stroking the velvet muzzles 
and ears of chestnut horses, a family of distant travelers 
wandering in from a forgotten summer’s day. 

Bio: Tim Hawkins