the beautiful changes In such kind ways, Wishing ever to sunder Things and things’ selves for a second finding, to lose For a moment all that it touc… - Richard Wilbur

My dog lay dead five days without a grave In the thick of summer, hid in a clump of pine And a jungle of grass and honey-suckle vine. I who had loved him while he kept alive Went only close enough to where he was To sniff the heavy honeysuckle-smell Twined with another odor heavier still And hear the flies' intolerable buzz.

The beacon-blaze unsheathing turns The face of darkness pale And now with one grand chop gives clearance to Our human visions . . .

It is always a matter, my darling,
Of life or death, as I had forgotten. I wish
What I wished you before, but harder.