...Darkly Defined...

The dog's barking.

It's late at night

and the dog

is at the end of the yard

barking at… the neighbors?

Perhaps not at the neighbors directly, 

though that doesn't mean 

they don't hear him.

Maybe he doesn't need

a reason to bark.

That is, nothing other

than the exhilaration

of being outside and hearing his 

vocal iterations reverberate

off distant structures.

Distant structures 

define him.

Right now,

there's a square box

at the end of the room

presently flashing images at me.

And though I’m not barking at it, 

this doesn’t mean it has 

failed to define me.

I step through the door in my bare feet

and head out towards the 

   sound of my dog.

There's no moon tonight

and as the light from

the living room fades away,

I find myself in 

deep pitch blackness.

My bare feet leave the harsh concrete

and the sensation of grass

overcomes me.

Would I have noticed 

the cool faint moistness

were it not for the void of dark?

No moon, but yet there are stars— 

   stars all about me.

Indeed, they glow beneath the 

soles of star-lost feet.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness,

I find myself striding cross 

a large patch of clover.

A patch of clover that's all in bloom.

All abloom and glowing beneath 

those distant stars above.

Who is "barking" now?

The stars?

   the clover?

or my dog?

Who and what is being defined 

at just this very moment?

I hear the rustling of 

branches and leaves

and just before me,

the dog comes trotting 

out of some bushes.

I stoop down,

scoop him up,

and quickly head back

towards the house.

I haven't time to think about this.

I must get back to the TV.

Otherwise,

I might pause

to stop

and bark.

Ó97 Jack David Hubbell