I love two dogs, even when they’re killing / a baby possum near the columbines, / shaking the varmint / until the death squeal chokes to a gargle,

Alan Michael Parker, “When I Am a Hummingbird”

This stanza and the the last of this poem are why I write. Absolutely beautiful.

…and I will dive into the meat

of the possum

and beat there,

the mean, bloody thing alive again.

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