PIERCE

a thousand domestic dogs
run on the island
where domestic men
once upon a time paid for raw sex
clenched on brush-wrapped trees
or oceanside rocks
there is a loneliness towards death
in the wind upon paths
that will wind into the unceasing

flowers of white lace
darkened by car exhaust
brush against chainlink
next to the sewage plant
the eyes of the dogs are looking
at me in ancient longing
a gaze too strong for the sight
of a short lifetime