My dog likes stumbled-upon water
Better than water
in a bowl.
Mud-puddle flavor is perfect,
A sort of mocha -
in a hole.
When rain is pelting Autumn
And leaves are floating
A-sea,
My dog reckons the planet
Is filling the kettle
For tea.
She runs along the fieldside
- Stopping now
For an itch -
Then sips with satisfaction
Vintage wine
from a ditch.
And when I try to stop her,
She keeps one eye
A-lee,
And drinks till the very last second,
Then runs away --
From me.
You were stumbled-upon water
A soggy field
Ago -
A bright winesap apple,
A Frog’s leap
In the snow -
You were the smoothest skipping-rock,
Skimming across
A stream,
Landing on the other bank,
Lodging in
My dream.
So where in the world are you?
The world was yours
To own -
If torn from a discordant lover -
Older, shyer,
Windblown.
But now my dog comes running,
Flushed with the doings
Of wrong -
And thinking of stumbled-upon water
- Both of us - move
Along.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
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1 comments:
Perfect.
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