beautiful dogs...

monday afternoon, the day of Roscoe's death I took a long walk at lunch
I stumbled about the city with my eyes full of tears
not stumbling like a fool into traffic
yet soberly stumbling about the sidewalks just the same
although I was not hungry... that did not stop me from eating

as I approached the entrance for Explorer's Hall at National Geographic I saw some sculptures of some wolves howling at the moon in front of the offices of Defenders of Wildlife

I crossed the street as I was drawn in by the gray metal forms
before I knew it I was holding and caressing each solo statue of each lone wolf
the flow of tears rushed down my already red and moist face as my heart howled at the moon with them

in hindsight.... I glad I was not arrested

that statue is of Balto in Central Park
Roscoe was a dog... not a wolf
but you knew that