these days measure themselves by grunts
from the sleeping shovel-headed dog.

step out of current. waltz back in later
slogging through a rebirth of mud.

grace is not a flawless dance, but
wrapping the arm ’round your flaw’s thin waist

understanding the hunger. measuring pain
on a ruler drawn by pain

grunt in time with the shovel-headed dog
relax knowing the current will find your way back