The Way by Robert Creeley

My love’s manners in bed
are not to be discussed by me,
as mine by her
I would not credit comment upon gracefully.

Yet I ride by the margin of that lake in
the wood, the castle,
and the excitement of strongholds;
and have a small boy’s notion of doing good.

Oh well, I will say here,
knowing each man,
let you find a good wife too,
and love her as hard as you can.

Later (6) by Robert Creeley

If you saw
dog pass, in car–

looking out, possibly
indifferently, at you–

would you–could you–
shout, “Hey, Spot!

It’s me!” After all
these years,

no dog’s coming home
again. Its skin’s

moldered
through rain, dirt,

to dust, hair alone
survives, matted tangle.

Your own, changed,
your hair, greyed,

your voice not the one
used to call him home.

“Hey Spot!” The world’s
greatest dog’s got

lost in the world,
got lost long ago.