Postcard from the Met

That portrait of a dog buried in the sand.
That portrait of a dog sinking in the sand.
I remember it was sepia-toned.
The difference between sunk and sinking
Perfect-ness of the action which
begs the eye to follow through,
yet it just stares
frozen like the trapped animal
When you showed me a postcard
the year we met, the faded sketch
you imagined to be a head portrait
of a tired dog. (A happy dog?)
No it was sinking in an invisible mire
of canvas, not already sunk.
Sand and not white space
in old photographs,
the dog, the poor thing,
you loved its helplessness.

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