The only dog I ever loved was Lois Lane

This is the dream: I kiss the foothill
of your hip and feel you come against
my jaw. Waking, you are married;
have a baby with someone else. Pity

is absent in nature, survival either
borne in the bone or not born at all.

Make of me an animal defenseless
save its racing heart and spectacle

of sacrifice. The Times inform us
resilience is not dwelling on unchanging
pasts, uncontrollable futures, but living
in the now. Resilience sounds like

crisis. My teeth miss yours.
How time contracts to simple hours

for anchorites walled up and burning
bright amid god’s boundless prism.

Don’t seek the easy lesson;
know only that the house was built
from memory’s faulty ebb.

J. Freeborn is a social worker and the anthology books managing editor at The Poetry Society of New York. They have recent work in Dream Pop, Occulum, Dear Poetry Journal, Voicemail Poems, and elsewhere.