Mary Oliver Poem (fragment).

3. Teeth

Out of my desire to be

related to my sleek young dog, I ate

her puppy teeth, all of them I could find, white and

crisp, each one rolled in a

pad of bread. I was not, consequently,

related to her. But I say this:

in any life some failures are nevertheless

achievements, and this one, in mine, is by no means

the least. God help us if

we make this world only out of bone, and not the greater weight

of admiration, whimsy,

somehow i cant figure itout fierce and unspeakable love.

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