Man with a Black Dog

M
The first commotion stirred him to offend,
forgivably, with friendly leaps and clutching;
but soon too urgent friendliness was wrought
by a new wave of guests. At last I complained
to that one man that it was indecent
of him to tempt the beast so, pressing his
tweed knee against the furry brisket. But
he smiled, and spoke with a Rhinelandish accent:

Milady, your youth, as mine did me, tends
you now to the younger beliefs of men,
their naive symbols: cloudy animal heads
to represent witless rampages of glands.
Egyptian Hershef, Seth, Ra—the romance
of anonymity above the neck
and smooth humanity below—were gods
of early hankering and youthful conscience.

See how the shaggy thing turns back his ears;
the straining mouth and eyes’ protuberance
leave me my steady vision and clear speech
and mind. The aegipans, surely the centaurs
are truer concepts of the dual beast
and a maturer Hellas sculpted them:
potentially ironic man above
and hairy vitality below the waist.
No one, Milady, no lover on earth
does other than what I am doing now,
methodically tempting the brute, till from
the dim sheath an eager lick of flame darts forth.
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