You've Heard of the Black Dog?

Dressing the Black Dog

I've watched sorrow pass
through me and on like torrential rain.
- Karin Gottshall

Were it slick and liquid
as this, passing on like hard rain,
you might stand outside in a downpour
leaving your poor umbrella
in its stand, gazing longingly
at your electrified body.

Were it squeaky-wheel-gets-the-oil
easy, so easy
that sorrow didn't bother to take
a number, just hopped
to the front of the line
without a ticket,
you would dash out
from in front of the bus
and climb on board.

Could you simply rub your glasses
with the tail of an ancient chambray shirt
and clearly see sorrow pass on
like a shadow hunted
by clouds at high noon,
wouldn't you wear five shirts,
extra large, grand as robes,
every day, no matter the heat?

It is almost holy,
a passing like this,
a blood through hole in palm
sort of miracle.
To watch the black dog
come and go,
exit through the entry wound
is a jagged cut
worth carrying the blade tip up.