The meadow is his home now.
\nUp high in the mountains,
\nhe lies in the shade
\nin a circle of trees
\namong the wild iris.<\/p>\n
He yawns and stretches,
\nflips over
\nand rolls and rolls,
\ngroaning in pleasure
\nin the tall sweet grass.<\/p>\n
At any moment
\nhe will sit up, alert,
\nears sharp,
\nsniffing the air,
\neyes intent on something
\nwe can’t see
\noff under the trees.<\/p>\n
His world is perfect now, 7\/7\/2004<\/small><\/p>\n I wrote this five years before Lucky Dog<\/a> died, remembering a beautiful spot the three of us discovered. And, imagining the inevitable, I sobbed. This supports my hope that “any horror could be faced \/ and become a poem.”<\/p>\n I borrowed the title from a poem by James Dickey. If you’re looking for that one, here’s a link<\/a>. And, here’s a poem<\/a> I wrote soon after Dickey’s death in 1997.<\/p>\n Listen to The Heaven of Animals<\/a> <\/p>\n My Virtual Chapbook<\/a> (table of contents)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The meadow is his home now. Up high in the mountains, he lies in the shade in a circle of trees among the wild iris. He yawns and stretches, flips over and rolls and rolls, groaning in pleasure in the tall sweet grass. At any moment he will sit up, alert, ears sharp, sniffing the … Continue reading The Heaven of Animals<\/span>
\nthough I know he misses
\nthe pats, the belly rubs,
\nthe love in our voices:
\nlie down.
\nstay now.
\ngood boy. mjh<\/span><\/p>\n
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