Poetry Pick

PHILOSOPHER DOG by Jeff Seffinga Ontario, Canada

Morning to morning, the old dog said, that is the way the days all grow together. Hard knowledge will not sliver the channels of time. The rain will rain and snow will snow, each to its season. Rivers will wander off to the seas and trees reach into the skies to twist tatters of sun around ribbons of wind. All cycles turn, each with its own texture warped in the passage of days; each day a separate fibre that may be remembered, but long after passage, lost. That is the way that a life is shaped: morning to morning, the old dog said.

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