LUKE
"I had a dog
who loved flowers.
Briskly she went
through the fields,
yet paused
for the honeysuckle
or the rose,
her dark head
and her wet nose
touching
the face
of every one
with its petals
of silk
with its fragrance
rising
. . .
into the air
where the bees,
their bodies
heavy with pollen,
hovered -
and easily
she adored
every blossom,
not in the serious,
careful way
that we choose
this blossom or that blossom -
the way we praise or don't praise -
the way we love
or don't love -
but the way
we long to be -
that happy
in the heaven of earth -
that wild, that loving."
