DOG HEART
In time I shall wither, my own dog heart gone;
finished with all that leaping and panting and frolic.
I shall slow to that limp of the bad-hipped dog,
all bravado over and done.
-
Now, as well, the hillocks are mountains to these
trickling streams which are rivers. All things are
as they become - quite simply so - and
nothing more can be done.
-
Now, beneath trees of new, two-week old leaves, I
am sitting for daybreak again. This light here shall
find me - slowed yet solid and unforgiving and
grateful too. I have become an old man.
-
That elongated cupola with those bawdy clocks
once again not keeping right time. Over Nassau Hall
it catches the new light just right - as I wish here
to capture life. And shine. 'Right back at you,
world, right back at you again.'
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