Summer—1982-1998
Her season with us longer
than some dated in the burying ground
up the hill,
our good dog! good girl!
weaves among the melting stones
bent from older grief,
her restless nose leading fall breezes
through the hair along her spine,
as she walks us home.
Where now
she is absence—
empty bowls, bed, back seat, streets,
parks, sand road, winter beach—
Where now
she still races—
sounding joy annoyance warning—
down the stairs along the hall the dock,
and springs at dimming shapes,
is caught up by arms
beyond our ken.