I hear a voice out there--could be the four-seater heading west for Toronto Island airport, could be goose #63 with the limp, could be that swift of wind that blows fine dust from the face of the bluffs--I hear a voice curious about what I'm working on here at Fool's Paradise. Thanks for asking!
I've got a character named dog (always lower case) who veers from actual canine, as in the incident with the ham on the kitchen counter, to actual human feeling the effects of time, as in his routine bluffing struck by what the earth has to say. He lives, he drives, he walks, he seems to want to put things in words. Dogging it, he admits. It's not so much the specifics of his life that have surfaced (other than that he's a dog from Saskatchewan), more his general approach/response channels. So a series of poems, a book-full in the end, should there be one. Today, dog goes downtown!
Another idea: create English lyrics for the traditional fado songs (sample here) of Alfredo Marceneiro. Free translation, sonic translation, no attempt to render the Portuguese into its corresponding English, but sustaining the essential heart--most dog-like, as it happens--of the music.
I can hang a day on either or both of those.