Messianic

 For Jameson

This morning, I read about a dog that died
doing what dogs know to do: run
towards a noise at the door,
to strangers barging in.
He was wearing a bold blue shirt–
dressed with care, no doubt,
by the woman of the house.
But maybe I am wrong: The dog was
not protecting but welcoming,
dashing to the door, expecting
someone coming home,
a wildly open heart
before being shot.

Sometimes I wonder, when I look at the world,
do I pretend not to see
the hiding spider, the wayward ant,
and proceed without caution
because I cannot survive the wave
of the many others that cannot be saved?