Not much of a dog yet, <br /> that smudge in the distance, beyond the reach <br /> <br />of focus. It's just an impressionist <br />gesture, a guess. From the edge of the clearing, the farmhouse <br />materializes, settles <br /> <br />into wall & stone. The water, <br />making the surface <br /> <br />of the stream, makes <br />reflections. So why shouldn't the dog <br /> <br />accept limits, become <br /> <br />a figure? Is it like the girl who sits <br />in the hall closet and says she's not <br />hiding? She's inside— <br /> <br />listening without the burden <br />of sight, letting locations <br />release hold. Out of body, <br />they seem lighter: her parents' voices no longer <br /> <br />hooked to their mouths. They seem <br />cleaner. Even the electric can opener; <br />the sounds of children <br /> <br />that rise from the yard, and fall; the opening <br />window, these are no longer <br /> <br />effects, things expected <br />of a subject and verb. The world anyhow is too <br />straightforward. <br /> <br />Maybe the dog <br />does not want to be a dog, does not want <br />to be turned into landscape <br /> <br />but to remain in the beginning, placeless: <br /> <br />with the wind opening, the wind <br />a vowel, and the stars and waters <br />that flash, recoil, and retch <br /> <br />unnamed as yet, unformed, unfound.<br /><br />Kate Northrop<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/unfinished-landscape-with-a-dog/
