When I start sorting through papers of my life, you have to be submitted to them. Here is a poem I wrote in 2006, when our dog was not a year old. Now he's almost 8 and still the same.
WAITING FOR THE WOMAN
Our dog--only ten months old--
a Puli (Bob Marley's hair walking)
climbs on our bed--our futon, actually,
and lays on the pillows, with one leg
and his head up against the window
that looks out on the driveway of our house.
I found him there tonigh,
Gazing out, looking for the woman,
my wife, who is away
at a birthday dinner
(God bless her....)
I asked him if he were
waiting for the woman.
And from his look, I knew he was.
Totally committed and obsessed,
riveted to the window,
watching, waiting, longing,
for the love she will bring to him.
And aren't we all--each in our own way--
leaning our faces against the window
for Love not yet here
or present, still distant and away?
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