In these
green fields I am alone,
far from
home,
well, not
an unfamiliar place by now,
nor I am
really alone
but once
more with a dog-
dogs, the
chance of many a road.
I’m walking
her, a favor to friends,
she is
friendly and obedient
and walks
almost on a straight line
on the path
of the lawn.
Gusts of
wind make
the oaks
and lime-trees sway,
a swarming
of branches we gaze at,
I sit on a
bench and she walks around
sniffing
life under swollen clouds
in parade on patches
of blue,
spreading their own
pageant hue:
billows of
silence and aloneness
with a
touch of anything up there
and,
despite anything, the grass
of desire,
the forwardness.
A dog going
on sniffing
while the
sky blooms
busy with
travelling clouds
with, behind,
the sun’s gaze,
now a mellow
blaze,
a mother-of-pearl
light-grey,
welding
here onto away.
2 comments:
I like the image of the dog snigging away oblivious to the skies. At the same time the poet can never know the full fascination of all those wonderful smells that the dog can find but we can't....
How true, unlike us for dogs smelling is much more important and more intense than seeing. It's Always fascinating and surprising, and also comic, when my dog here in Venice, while on the leash, stops abruptly and gets riveted to the spot almost making me lose my balance...because she has just smelled something heavenly and wants to "taste" its smell to the bottom...
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