with my dog-eyes

with my dog eyes i stop before the sea. tremulous and sick. bent, thin,
i smell fish in the driftwood. fishbone. tail. i gaze at the sea
but don't know its name. i remain
standing there, askance, and what i feel
is also nameless.
i feel my dog body. i don't know the world,
nor the sea in front of me.
i lie down
because my dog body orders it.
there's a bark in my throat,
a gentle howl. i try to expel it
but man-dog i know that i'm dying
and i will never be heard. now
i'm a spirit. i'm free and fly
over my miserable being,
my abandonment,
the nothing that contains me
and that made me on Earth.
i am rising, wet like fog.



hilda hilst