She loved him and she loved his golden dog, And both of them loved her like none before; It was a summer long ago, but I Can see them still, right now, as bright as sun For they, the boy and girl, live on in love Though that transforms in time, it grows up wild, And golden dogs live only for a time To teach us what love looks like when it's pure
She and she were best of friends
A century past, in a sunny place;
Brought back to vibrant life today
In art by William Merritt Chase
I saw a gallery of his work
And stopped and gazed, hour on hour’
And felt, somehow, that I had been
Where he had been, by some strange power
Been on the beach, or in a grove,
Been in a park, or off in Spain;
Or been with two friends on a lawn
In some way that I can’t explain
And like this woman and this dog
I felt a kinship to this man
I’d never heard of anywhere
Before I saw his work, firsthand
Some people work like dogs do,
They run and run and run —
They always work in packs, too;
Alongside everyone
And others work like cats will:
They rest up on some shelf,
Then suddenly they’ll sprint to kill,
Just himself or herself
The dogs think cats are lazy,
A natural enemy;
The cats think dogs are crazy,
And waste their energy
I glance for her down on the floor,
But she is not there anymore,
My old and lovely golden friend;
And I can’t really comprehend
This business we call life and death:
Not what comes after final breath,
Nor how much of this world is real –
Nor why
Love’s all
We really feel
the cat now sleeps upon the book;
the book upon the table lies –
why read a book
when i know that it lies?
i have a blanket for the cold —
the cat now kneads the blanket, so
who needs it worse?
the one who needs or kneads?
my grandson says that
captain america is
batman.
the cat never makes that mistake.
i talk to the cat about
why it is that
the music of william schuman
speaks to me as it does –
the cat offers
no answers
i miss the dog,
who just died,
for she was real —
i have no cat,
i haven’t for many years
my last cat lived 21 years
our dog lived 15, which
for a golden retriever
was getting up there
i write this because
the house seems a lot emptier
and
i know no other way to face it
She’s getting up there now, in years;
She tracks in bits of ice and snow —
I see her on the carpet there,
And wonder where the years did go
When she was trotting by my side,
On morning walks across the fields;
A golden spirit, sweet and pure,
The life of love
And what
It yields
She was a dog-woman, I a cat-guy
Way back when we met;
I used to gaze at her when they’d go by
Wary of her pet
I tried to figure out how I could
Meet and talk with her;
When the idea kind of came to me
Hearing my cat purr
Walking a cat is, well, stupid, but
Can turn quite aerobic;
And I forgot trying to meet her that
I am cynophobic
Day after day I would try until
One day at last, she spoke:
“What kind of crazy man walks his cat?” —
All of my hopes up in smoke —
As I slunk home with my cat in tow
One thought I couldn’t dismiss:
“That,” I thought sagely, “is what I deserved.
Dragging my cat into this.”
