Maybe if we haven’t degenerated as
H. G. Wells foretold, we might build
Ships or worlds to escape the collision
With Andromeda, and maybe Susan
Won’t actually die though she can only
Be on her feet for short periods of time
Which casts a sufficient pall,
But reduced as it is to prose
As it invariably is and that
Not quite what I meant . . ..
Sure we can talk in prose.
Most of us do, but when something
I wrote quite right is stripped
Like a triptych of its illumination,
I may lean forward and look out
My study window to where Ginger
Used to spend her time, a little time
As it happens, nine years and five
Months. Sage and Duffy search about,
Wanting to turn her into prose,
But she will never be again.
1 comment:
I so hoped it wasn't so . My life has been full of dogs I love that others keep with them. Their stories and lives a part of my joy. Each one if ever need be could come to us and live with us in their forever home away from home. We've shared stories of our furry kids for years- their puppy hoods and learning - their quirks and joys. How cruel that that miserable 2012 could still at the last minute take away our lovely one, the evil year of so many deaths and losses and near misses, Her passing is a warning - - time lock of attention on my two. They are slower and more willing to curl up with me - and the telltale gray faces have begun. What will I do. So sad,
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