and here's what I say: God's not into sadness. He says it's a waste of time. So, the grief I feel almost every day, what Buddha says we've got coming to us, should not be all that drives these-- what shall I call them?-- earned poems. I don't know if this proves it but I just came off the beach with my dog, Walt. The whole way out and back in a cool rain he ran from scent to luxurious scent, poking his nose into washed-up seaweed, rolling in what was left of a dead seagull, rotten fish, pissing on those things worthy of it and almost everything was. I'm trying to learn from my little dog that there is nothing that is not God, is not here for our happiness. Me, all the time I'm sunk down in my wet jacket, unforgiving of a botched love while he pesters me with a soggy stick, tells me to throw it, please throw it.
- Tom Crawford, from "Wu Wei: Poems" Labels: poetry, tom crawford |
