First give up.  Death
always wins.  Then look
on your crepe-soled running stat 
as some kind of dance -- attendance 
on the Mystery.  Think of your dog, 
that wolf child, the tennis 
ball firmly in his teeth. 
He'll dodge, growl, tug, 
but you'll always get the ball 
for another throw. Think of your dog. 
That's what you are 
to Death.  Now write.

- Rick Stansberger