my own dachshund

I just read the essay

About EB White, his wife, his dachshund

Waiting on hurricane Edna
Nestled in their home

While the sickly moon outside
Is crowded by the wind

And the bullying clouds

And I saw the small warm room

As a floating window frame

Like the ark set loose again in a flood

And I was God as
A benevolent peeping tom

Watching my creatures from the woods

As they cast the only light for miles

And as God, I saw the tired dog sniff

At the radio console

And my eternal chest longed

For my own dachshund

My own radio and a wife

And would my greatest pleasure be

To protect her, or to have her hang her arms

Round my shoulders while she pressed her chin to me

And the rain would tap and the wood

Would creak around us

My dachshund would sleep

With his nose tucked under his tail’s tip

And the light from the bulb would bow around us

Like a guardian angel