09-29-2021, 06:19 AM
Latest version now posted in INTENSIVE forum
In What We Trust (rev.1)
Good ole Buck was a big bear
of a dog, an all-black shepherd
with a small white tie on his chest.
One early autumn evening
we sat on the side porch
of my brother’s house, looking out
on the clearing between the oaks.
I think he was listening to the last
of the crickets, smelling the dusky
earthiness of fiery first fallen leaves,
as he gazed with pointed ears
toward something I couldn’t quite see.
His gentle orange eyes reflected
the crescent moon with an awareness
for which he had no description. Me?
I saw bare dogwood branches as arms
cradling that moon; saw the Dipper
scooping Jupiter from the sky.
And I thought, “God, if I’m really created
in your image, then what about Buck?
Whose image was he created in?
How is it that a simple dog
can seem so finely attuned to something
that I have half-hearted faith in?”
You may think I’m foolish; or confused,
yet I’m certain of that night
on the porch; thought of it often
since we buried ole Buck by the brambles
in my brother’s back yard
nearly 40 years ago.
In What We Trust (original)
Good ole Buck was a bear
of a dog, an all black shepherd
with a small white tie on his chest.
On an early autumn evening
we sat on the side porch
of my brother’s house, looking out
on the clearing between the woods.
I think he was listening to the last
of the crickets, smelling the dusky
richness of the first fallen leaves,
as he gazed with pointed ears toward
something I couldn’t quite see.
His gentle orange eyes reflected
the crescent moon, and he smiled
(I’m sure of it) while seeming to ask,
“did you smell that? Hear that?”
I did not- but I could feel it.
In this anthropocentric world
that we pass through, I find it
interesting that we ascribe human qualities
to just about anything- hands in branches,
faces in clouds, Jesus in pancakes.
My God. Are we really created
in Your image, or You, in our imaginations?
But we are not what this is about.
It's about an animal; one particular animal:
whose image was he created in?
Just a simple dog, so obviously attuned
to something I half-heartedly have faith in.
I know you think I’m foolish;
blasphemous even, or maybe just
confused. Yet I’m certain of that night
on the porch, and I remember it often
since we buried him by the brambles
in my brother's yard, nearly 40 years ago.
In What We Trust (rev.1)
Good ole Buck was a big bear
of a dog, an all-black shepherd
with a small white tie on his chest.
One early autumn evening
we sat on the side porch
of my brother’s house, looking out
on the clearing between the oaks.
I think he was listening to the last
of the crickets, smelling the dusky
earthiness of fiery first fallen leaves,
as he gazed with pointed ears
toward something I couldn’t quite see.
His gentle orange eyes reflected
the crescent moon with an awareness
for which he had no description. Me?
I saw bare dogwood branches as arms
cradling that moon; saw the Dipper
scooping Jupiter from the sky.
And I thought, “God, if I’m really created
in your image, then what about Buck?
Whose image was he created in?
How is it that a simple dog
can seem so finely attuned to something
that I have half-hearted faith in?”
You may think I’m foolish; or confused,
yet I’m certain of that night
on the porch; thought of it often
since we buried ole Buck by the brambles
in my brother’s back yard
nearly 40 years ago.
In What We Trust (original)
Good ole Buck was a bear
of a dog, an all black shepherd
with a small white tie on his chest.
On an early autumn evening
we sat on the side porch
of my brother’s house, looking out
on the clearing between the woods.
I think he was listening to the last
of the crickets, smelling the dusky
richness of the first fallen leaves,
as he gazed with pointed ears toward
something I couldn’t quite see.
His gentle orange eyes reflected
the crescent moon, and he smiled
(I’m sure of it) while seeming to ask,
“did you smell that? Hear that?”
I did not- but I could feel it.
In this anthropocentric world
that we pass through, I find it
interesting that we ascribe human qualities
to just about anything- hands in branches,
faces in clouds, Jesus in pancakes.
My God. Are we really created
in Your image, or You, in our imaginations?
But we are not what this is about.
It's about an animal; one particular animal:
whose image was he created in?
Just a simple dog, so obviously attuned
to something I half-heartedly have faith in.
I know you think I’m foolish;
blasphemous even, or maybe just
confused. Yet I’m certain of that night
on the porch, and I remember it often
since we buried him by the brambles
in my brother's yard, nearly 40 years ago.