Dog Barks At Moon Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Under a moon
spun
on an axis

of silver light,
night's sky
steers the splashed
cream
and eggshell

and alabaster
and cotton light
flying
into the wings
of a glassy

tumbled sky
seeing
and smelling
a dog, as it yelps

and thunders
at its own
bronze-eyed face.

(ii)

The dog
barks,
broken pieces
of thunder,

and
rolling rocks,

jabbing
and hitting
each other
louder and louder

down the narrow
choked tunnel
of a groaning

throat
stretching into
thunderclaps

and the deep
contrabassoon
of a cartwheeled
tumbled
sky of light.

(iii)

How many rocks
drop on
heavier large-
mouthed rocks
to slip off

a sharp slope
of rolling rocks
punching
each other

down a dog's
barking,
growling throat?


(iv)

How many
cobblestones
and pimpled
unshaved rocks

has a dog
spat out, barking
its lungs out,

under a splashed
flashlight
grinding a daisy

light into
splashes
from a comet's
powdered tail

hanging over
a volcano's sunny light,
when a light-drunk

and knocked out
dog spits out
only more light

to choke it
into early dawn's
silence
when shadow

and charcoal
curtains
drop down

with a pitch night
woven
and tightened
in a cave?