Masterpiece

Out there, you craft the water -
but here, in our hands, you make it spill.

To win your affection, we find ourselves
balancing
stone on stone.

We put the flame
to our loyalty,
speaking ill of the dead.

No plan can work –
we hide the weapon in our mind,
as forgotten as a face.

We roast
in our splendid coats
in the midday sun
while the arches of our trust

break under the weight
of a chance meeting,

and nowhere are we closer
than when we have strayed.

At your feet,
we throw down our fortune,
claiming to be more needy than the poor.

Later, our tell-tale tracks
lead them to us,
while across the sand

our own dogs
follow our scent,
barking for our taste.

In the meantime,
you give us bells to ring –

and we swallow them.