Half Border Collie, Half Black Strip.

Ruined. That's it. That makes the whole damn roll.

 
It's a sunset. In warm, declining light,

I tried for an extra print; got a black hole:

The dog is leaping for, poised in mid-flight.

An emblematic darkness swallowing

A Frisbee. There he stays, suspended in

The present tense, where night keeps following

A setting sun, as if he's always been

The final frame. Tomorrow, I pretend.

In hot pursuit, graceful as one can be,

I'll start anew. Today, I've come to the end.

Chasing after something I can't see.