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Fit for the Kingdom
Just
when I am awestruck by diamonds
on the upstanding collars of Queen Anne’s court
each with her crown of snow
pausing
while my tinkering mind
shuffles and sorts through word files
for just the right writing currency
the dog
charges past on the meadow path
rocking me like a semi on the Interstate
and I stand, shaken, the writing spoor erased from my head
and again
farther on into the pines where she sniffs
the pellets and wrinkled white beds of deer
we scare up a wild turkey hidden in the boughs
above
and down upon us snow crystals
spray like sparks from the explosion
of her dusting thundering wings, and suddenly
awake
and empty of words, I walk on behind m'lady
in our morning processional through the Queen’s chamber
freshly and properly christened with a mantle of silence
This is Ara, the dog companion of my son's girlfriend, my new sometimes walking buddy.
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