LOST DOGS – A Poem by Jim Trainer

the original wound is the one
from which all injustice and empathy flow
so concussed we may not remember
the world before
but find ourselves whiskey-drunk
in the woods
in our thirteenth year
and later shutting down
the heart
and its lustrous colors
in small rooms
coldly moving like a soldier
through pastures of solitude
wild and beautiful with pain.

Visit Jim at https://www.jimtrainer.net.