My master Lu
teaches me
how to blend,
how to use
the art of deception
& imitation.

I gesture,
roll & tumble.
I jump up & kick,
use quick monkey hands
& I claw with ancient arts,
it's intoxicating
this drunken-style
Kung Fu.

We write endlessly
about the sensuous things in life,
it's ***-for-tat,
some rat-a-tat-tat,
for us
that's where it's at.

It ain't like chess,
gin rummy
or even go fish,
it's the real hot-deal
in penmanship.

We're restless souls,
dreaming & wishing,
confessing & bleeding
our ruptured-hearts out
in ******-like
steamy-words.

Hell no,
we ain't terse,
we're just darned
loose with the ****-verses....
read them & believe it,
kindred spirits!

We walk like vapor-genies
in old growth forests,
ghostlike & elegant,
we move
like true fairytales,
gnomes whittle the way
for us
past exploding ferns.

It’s true,
we have seen the rain
coming down in torrents
along blue ridge trails,
fallen logs strewn about
like matchsticks,
fungi licks our shins
while lightning cracks
thunder like bullwhips.
I love moments like that…….
I hear Creedence every time we go.

And didn’t you know dear friends,
it’s spiritual medicine
for restless souls,
like my fellow companions & me.

Once my Jack ruled the woods.
He could capture squirrels at will,
dig out moles, he even got a few hawks.
When his eyes went blind,
things changed.

Oh sure, he could still sniff the air
& let out a few barks,
but the spark wasn’t in him anymore.
And when he missed
the grey fox tracking us,
I knew it was nearly over.
He succumbed to old age
three months later.

The vet came out and injected him
with the deadly mix.
Sammie died right in my arms,
he went totally limp,
I heard his last breath
& cried like a baby,
couldn’t believe he was gone.

He’s buried out in my backyard now.
I miss him every day,
the way he used to played,
how he’d run circles around me,
tease me with his ball.

Though things are silent,
& there are no dog sounds,
I still call his name.