Terriers, retrievers, even sour ferrets
tossing rat-ragamuffin garlands of phrase,
tossing praise and damnation before us all;

what’s made them so tenacious
when it comes to the tight chains
they have wrapped around language and tongue?

They spell it all out as if
they have no faith in their listeners
to leap with them and land well.

Beacon, beacon, flare, flash, spotlight — 
give them the time and they’ll show you
what each second means, even if you’re

living through them yourself.  Magic men,
wisdom-drenched women; boys on fire, girls
on fire, and who knows who else coming ablaze;

all that jungle and banquet of breath —
and then from each a quick look over the shoulder,
just a sneak peek to see who’s watching and hearing.

Terriers, ferrets, dogs of word,
beasts of the stage moment; it’s not your roar
we love.  It’s not the music alone that works:

rather, the way the sound carries a thought.
Rather, the thought embedded in the sound.
Rather, the wondering audience going along,

trusting the ride.  The ragged harp
implying melody.  The terrier settling into
good hound, pointer not retriever.  “You get it.

It’s over there.  I’ll be quiet now until you do.”
Not looking back for the result. “Here it is.
Take it, it’s waiting.  Shhhhh…”