Picnic, Lightning--That is one hell of a powerful poem, and though it seems so unfussy on the surface, it's going to bear more than one reading. There are some symmetries of image in it that I like--nature can kill us, manufactured stuff can kill us. Meteor, plane. Lightning, falling safe. Outside can kill us, inside can kill us. The nature inside suggests the manufactured stuff outside--heart, power switch; blood clot, ship; brain, monastery.

Then he's got all these death-feeding-life images--compost, which is what dead things become; wheelbarrow, which recalls a hearse. Long boxes--can you see coffins there? And the flowers, themselves "limp," pressed into rows--the layout of a cemetery, exactly.

Then death's presence makes all things more crucially bright and beautiful by contrast, more to be appreciated, even the flowers seem to sing--and here's the kicker: time's STILL inexorable, and too bad if the guy's in his garden to bargain at forgetfulness--time's betrayal has been driven home so effectively even the sundial might as well be clicking away like a clock. Because sundials normally don't "click," do they? Well, they will for the laureate's poor sod, from now on, won't they? That is virile, clean, cruel writing. Wonder if Collins has Mars in Gemini?

Oh my god--I see what you mean about the steel on stone! Well--great minds think alike. . .

Dogs. Sometimes big BBQ style gloves, for handling the biters. Goggles would be more for grooming cats. (I love cats. I have cats. Do I groom cats? The emphasis on that NO is best left to the imagination!) No jumpsuit, because with all the floor dryers going it's god-awful hot in a grooming shop. Usually a tank top--nylon, it dries quick. 'Cause boy howdy, is dog bathing wet. Not so much soapy--dog soap doesn't lather all that much, and it's easy to rinse. But doggies like to stick their heads out of the tub. And doggies like to lunge over the edge of the tub. And doggies like to shake manically in the tub. A veritable cascade, a little Victoria Falls with every pooch. Water goes everywhere.

Sometimes dogs "go" everywhere too. Especially certain breeds. Groomers have renamed the cocker spaniel, you know, the breed is now known as the caca spaniel. One groomer site had a boisterous essay about the cocker grooming experience. You know me, I admire the well-turned phrase--one reference I especially remember from that site was to a "giant fecal plume." A bearded collie took a big dump on my shoulder one time. Kept wanting to sit down on the grooming table. I was holding him up with one arm and shoulder while fluff drying with the other. Bearded collie: mediocre IQ, state-of-the-art poopies. I think it's the Mars in Gemini that makes me see the humor in situations like that. Humor helps in dog grooming. So does a touch of Virgo. My Ascendant, your Moon. Do you have a doggie?