I guess we're--
I'm not going to read about death all the time.
But death, death is alive as life.
It's with us.
And I believe those spirits are around us and around us today.
I want to read a poem for you guys.
Do you like dogs?
OK, I had a dog named Lulu.
And I used to call her "Lulu Cabulu."
But we lived near we lived on Fifth Street,
and this is one of my neighbors on fifth street where we lived.
And I used to take her down to Himmel park.
Do you know where Himmel park is?
Do you live near Himmel?
Yay.
OK, well, Lulu used to love-- and you
know she used to like to smell?
You know, this is partly about that.
And this poem called, I'll see if I can find it here.
Look in the table of contents.
Anyway, she used to pull me around
because she weighed 110 pounds.
She was a big girl.
And she was part red wolf.
And red wolves are the oldest kind of wolves.
They're sort of like the primitive wolves
before the other wolves.
And they look sort of scraggly but beautiful at the same time.
You know what I mean--
sort of like a rescue dog.
And she had ears that went like that.
And so this is called "Song for Lulu the Red Wolf."
And it actually appeared in a magazine called Bark.
Isn't that cool?
And Bark has this wonderful bumper sticker and that's
"dog is my co-pilot."
"Song of Lulu the Red Wolf."
"For your eyes are frozen lemon light
that slices through the calico cat's humpback spite.
For the smell of grass and mica spike ripe
constellations to the tufts between your golden claws.
For the subterranean train freighting
your throat that catapults me from computer
clack back to arctic flows.
For your shed fur like fraile silk islands
tacking the bright oak ocean of our high country floors.
For I dare not wear black velvet whose nappy fingers snap up
every white hair wiped from your wise muzzle.
For you leap to smack your front paws
dwarfing my shoulders as we lift our snouts to midnight's
blue howl.
For your tail curled like a scorpion's singular
alert black tip, a calligraphers nib inking
the elegant nouns of your lope.
For your leash tugs me along like a bloated cruise
ship, just so you can sniff dog pee love notes in Himmel park."
Yeah, I don't know what the attraction was.
But I think she liked the note.
"For when you sleep, I watch you breathe.
Your ancient paws twitch to dreams so I can begin mine."
Would you like to write dog poems?
Go home and write a poem for your dog today or your kitty.