Up again. The sun was always up

in southern California as I

slipped from under the sheets,

not wanting to roil

the jetsam of our double berth.

On the street, our neighbor’s

dachshund scuffed and tottered home.

The morning’s urine wet

his feet, then he heaved on,

eyes wide with long-eared standing.

I thought, I’d swap sailor’s bunk

for hound house to see him

skip instead of scrape the walk.

Beast, broken at the back

from gutter shots, from trenchant air

reminds me of us, of the hole

in the bed our bodies make

when we grope at the space

left by our pegless legs. By sunrise

we tried over and failed to jump.