Poems are dogs. Language is focused and limited in both.
Dogs and poems are only distantly connected to music.
The poem and the dog are friendly, we swear, for real,
but much closer to the truth is that its instinct.
The traits of a dog and a poem tend to be distinct—
but we love them simply for what they are.
They charm us in a bedroom or a bar,
most especially in places where they don’t belong.
They will do what you want them to do—for a song.
History is poetry, first; finally, castles reduced to stones.
Or coins. Dogs and poems are paid in bones.