if

if i tell you the list
of things i'm afraid of,
will they, from this sudden, clear airtime,
evince their black power
from the closet shelves,
squirrel out of that thick and dusty air
into dangerous, fluorescent possibility,
and shatter the bones of my whole life?

the dog doesn't care about such things.
instead, she sleeps,
curving herself into a careful parenthesis,
head resting on her front paw.
and what this tells me is
she is either happy
or dreaming.