Dot Poem
This is a dot poem. Here the ink pocks
densely, suggesting shadow in between
each hair
reflecting soft plush gray, the kind of light
fingers ache to stroke, to test
each breath
of cupped palm shape
vibrating
as vole body. Here
ink spots camouflage by stippled stick
while bright eyes scan, reflecting sky
an unmarked canvas
and occasionally, the constellated points
of owl, connecting dots
hunting to spill ink
making waves
on silent wings.