A poem for living not in the past or the future... but in the center, the present. A place of simplicity. A place that only dogs are wise enough to know of...but willing to share.
This is a poem for my friend Rita. I thought of her when I heard it. It is a poem written by a dog. Well, actually it was written by Mark Doty, but it was his dog Beau that told him what to say.
R., I suggest reading it out loud to the dogs.
Beau: Golden Retrievals
Fetch? Balls and sticks capture my attention
seconds at a time. Catch? I don't think so.
Bunny, tumbling leaf, a squirrel who's—oh
joy—actually scared. Sniff the wind, then
I'm off again, muck, pond, ditch, residue
of any thrillingly dead thing. And you?
Either you're sunk in the past, half our walk,
thinking of what you never can bring back,
or else you're off in some fog concerning
—tomorrow, is that what you call it? My work:
to unsnare time's warp (and woof), retrieving,
my haze-headed friend, you. This shining bark,
a Zen master's bronzy gong, calls you here,
entirely, now: bow-wow, bow-wow, bow-wow.