The poets in us die line by line,
\nuntil, like a tree shedding its leaves,
\nthere are no more.
\nNot less than what was intended.
\nNot more, because
\nthere are only so many lines
\nin the world,
\nand they must be shared.
\nNo more, no less.
\nSo if any of us are hungry
\nwe are all hungry.
\nSo if any of us are loved,
\nwe will all be loved,
\nno more, no less.<\/p>\n
Except if we keep a dog,
\nwhose eyes of shameless
\npurity and limitless love
\nforgive us for a
\npat on the head.
\nFor them, if they are poets,
\ntheir lines would fill the sea,
\nthen the heavens,
\nand swamp the edge of infinity.
\nWhile we have to be
\nsparing in what we have.
\nBut for them,
\nthe dogs in our lives,
\nthere is no limit to love,
\nor sorrow,
\nwhen we bury them.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The poets in us die line by line, until, like a tree shedding its leaves, there are no more. Not less than what was intended.…<\/p>\n