The Dogs at Arahama

While I’m thinking about the anniversary of the earthquake today, I have one more thing I’d like to share. A video that I think will break your heart, and a poem that puts it in perspective by local poet Stephen Collington.

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The Dogs at Arahama

Love? Do we call it love? Or must we say,
with learning’s sober circumspection, love
is something too complex to posit of
mere wordless instinct, habit, minds that stay
forever in the ambit of behaviour
without free will, or soul, or hope of saviour?

What else to call it then, this vigil kept
beside the burned-out barrel, hour on hour
through tremors, terror, cold, with no more power
to salve than save the ebbing life that slept
exhausted in the mud nearby, head curled
behind frail paws, held up against a world?

(used with permission)

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