Bucólico como la mierda | Bucolic as Fuck - Bucólico como la mierda (un poema que corrige una omisión de Li Bai) Otra primavera está a punto de terminar Y tengo poco que hacer hoyPero mira las nubes ...
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
In Desolation Sound (Bathsheba's Poem)
Sharp rattle of relief:
rain patters in a dry place, gives a sense
of letting go. --Or sudden terror:
the sodden suck, the lack of
air, as if you're drowning.
Too much, too soon, a flood
of missing: blasted. Echoless. O grief.
Rain drums against taut canvas
sighs joy and lamentation, signs
pinpricks heart's ease fur furrows ear flaps dog's paws
sings the scent of grass upon her feet.
We tumble into fog into
seal's slap and wolfish wail, blind
to what they see or know. So near,
so far; too late to bring you home.
Teakerne Arm, 14 August 2013
Bathsheba b. 16 August 2002 d. 12 August 2013
Photos are of Bathsheba swimming at Psyche Beach, Taylor's Head Provincial Park, Nova Scotia, one of her favourite places on earth.
Bathsheba suffered the rupture of a bloody tumor in her lungs on August 12 and had to be put down....just days before we got home to be with her. We are very very sad. Don't really believe we will return to a dog-empty house. Life. Feel....remiss. Lost. Missing. Enormous thanks to our friend Paulette, who loved Sheba profoundly, and was with her at the end.
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