Imagine being a dog
and cresting the hill before a park;
the entire city stretching beneath you,
a mesmeration of scent, a topography of light,
more news and rumors and fact
than are hidden in any core of an orbiting satellite.
I got a new kitchen set yesterday
and held it in my hands, feeling
all the dishes it will one day hold.
Plastic, yes, and tin and wood and
cloying, effective rubber
but also light and heat
and salt and fire
and thought.
Imagine being a dog
and making a turn you've never made before;
a shoulder of street unwinding before you,
a murmuring of hedgegrows, a bundling of life,
more sounds and struggles and speed
than are written in any history of strife.
I got a new kitchen set yesterday
and tucked it away into cupboards, imagining
distant kingdoms in the woodwork.
Ants, yes, and roaches and mites and
expanding, ancient air
but also shadow and breeze
and sawdust and webs
and peace.
Imagine being a dog.
And imagine getting a kitchen set.
Imagine walking down a street.
And imagine tucking things into cupboards.
Imagine the world dead.
And, most of all, imagine the world alive.