LITTLE DOGS RHAPSODY IN THE NIGHT (PERCY THREE) He puts his cheek against mine and makes small, expressive sounds. And when I'm awake, or awake enough he turns upside down, his four paws in the air and his eyes dark and fervent. Tell me you love me, he says. Tell me again. Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Over and over he gets to ask it. I get to tell.

Still, what I want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled-to cast aside the weight of facts and maybe even to float a little above this difficult world. I want to believe I am looking into the white fire of a great mystery. I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing-that the light is everything-that it is more than the sum of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.

I saw that worrying had come to nothing and gave it up. And took my old body and went out into the morning, and sang.

I worked probably 25 years by myself, just writing and working, not trying to publish much, not giving readings.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine

Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.

I simply do not distinguish between work and play.