There was no way we could all live forever. My dog knew that by the way she looked at me when she folded back into a crease on the couch and smacked her lips; that was it right there, the essence of the moment and passing of time, the dog curling in on herself clockwise, checking the boundaries, securing the edges. We settled in for a nap, and woke two years later, the odd passage of time on 78 RPMs, a dog’s life.
Bill Pearse 
I know poetry when I see it, even when it looks like prose. I may even like it better that way.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ha, you the man Walt. I know cool when I see it too. Blah !
LikeLike
This is gorgeous, and what a stunning and original metaphor, the 78.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh wow, thanks Ross! Glad you liked that analogue reference! Thanks sir! Bill
LikeLike
ah, the 78! that is a whole other speed indeed –
LikeLiked by 1 person
Right!
LikeLiked by 1 person