17. Dancer for the Moon

Their dog chases a bouncing glow ball into the twilight,

snagging it on the short hop, drops it dutifully at Caroline’s

feet. She feeds her a piece of string cheese. “Good girl.”

And throws the ball again. It’s like a small moon, pink

orb, beneath the full moon, and the dog a dancer for the moon,

a conjuror of night. David lies awake with bone pain

and neuropathy in his feet, his Depends swelling with piss.

How nice it would be to chase the ball, to squat in the grass

and pee, mouth and tongue happily gaped in mindless

pleasure at the approach of Caroline, whose face in the moon

light is suddenly beatific, as if someone had lit inside her

a candle. He remembers their early days when she would fill

her bedroom with candles and they would be intoxicated

by the scent of melting wax and she ignited him with her light.

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