Old Poetry

I published this in Bittersweet back in 2003, an old favorite of mine.

By the Baseball Bat
for Mark Doty

I believe in the wolves of memory,
how they force us,
like gold diggers far in the Yukon woods,
to build a ring of fire around our sleeping bags
to keep the wolves away from our dreams
and soft, smelly flesh.

I believe you can love someone
even more in their death;
the mind's tendency to domesticate
these wolves
makes it safe to love again,
safe to watch in the arena the dogfights
between our memories and our mutt desires
(a muzzle and switch kept hidden in our hearts,
just in case).

I believe in the naivety of age
and that a wolf-dog can be trained
to sleep at your feet, by the baseball bat,
and to never question your dominance
over the past.