Poets (and dogs) show us what love is
Fetch
all big dumb happiness and effort.
This one keeps swimming out into the
icy water for a stick,
he’d do it all day and all night
if you’d throw it that long,
he’d do it till it killed him, then he’d die
dripping and shining, a black waterfall,
the soggy broken stick still clenched
in his doggy teeth,
and watching him you want to cry
for all the wanting you’ve forsworn,
and how, when he hits deeper water,
his body surges suddenly, as if to say
Nothing could stop me now –
while you’re still thinking everything
you’ve ever loved
meant giving up some other thing you loved,
your hand, the stick stuck in the air,
in the shining air.
What do we love so much, as purely as a dog?
[A hat tip to Carolyn for sending this to me. That’s my dog Blue accompanying, a mix between a Jack Russell Terrier and a Saint Bernard. No, I couldn’t make that up. And no, I don’t know how it happened. In the words of SpongeBob SquarePants (the font of all wisdom), "use your imagination."]
