Photo by David Herron on Unsplash

If all the days of all the years were made of wine and gold
I’d roll them up into the light of intelligence in this one dog’s eyes
I’d tell him unashamedly how
this friendship across species was Buddhist and Beautiful — 
So, rock me like a good old boy, befriend me like the wind,
You’ll be with me when the gates fly open, when angels drift on in.

The shaman-spirit that will be: the Paiut Wovoka ghost dance
drives away every morsel of this dirty money-grabbing
massacre of everything that be wild, that be wilful, that be wondrous.
Love, it’s true, was once the common currency 
of the most illiterate, boorish Saxon.