Diego
We buried my old dog Diego
on St. Patrick's day, next to the arroyo
one of the driest of devil winters. he
looked like any other dog in New Mexico,
like the Santo Domingo pueblo dogs,
asleep on the dusty earth in the shade,
dreamy respite
from the Corn Dance heat.
I wanted to write:
I wept tears of Irish whisky on his grave but
all I kept thinking was the Great Spirit must've
discovered that placing his soul on earth
for a spell
during my life,
beat
having to answer for all the sorrows
of the world, if only for a moment,
any day.
-John Macker
one of the driest of devil winters. he
looked like any other dog in New Mexico,
like the Santo Domingo pueblo dogs,
asleep on the dusty earth in the shade,
dreamy respite
from the Corn Dance heat.
I wanted to write:
I wept tears of Irish whisky on his grave but
all I kept thinking was the Great Spirit must've
discovered that placing his soul on earth
for a spell
during my life,
beat
having to answer for all the sorrows
of the world, if only for a moment,
any day.
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