Valedictory

I saw a conflagration.
I saw how every animate thing might be a flame
and in the general fire find its place.
I dreamed that all of us are falling upward
toward a vast and strong embrace
in a region unimaginable, yet undeniably home
where our candles rise to meet the greatest light;
and I am glad to think of you falling so high
so far above me waving you goodbye
not wishing to ever stop this conversation but
comforted to see you rise
and keep on rising
just flying 
till your cherished, reborn glow is out of sight.

March 30 2011

Another Spring Time

One step shows the earth's begun to give again.
The poet taught us to distrust that yield
and yes, the season's one for suicides;
it even kills itself, or tries.
But something always rolls that rock away
again, and when we look inside,
trembling to think of losing our precious doubt
nothing's there, and we are left to decide only
how long we will hesitate 
before we turn to face
what waits for us outside.

March 28 2011

It May Take a Little While

It may take a little while.
The habit of you is in everything;
ivy in my walls,
and you know how hard that is to kill.
It's hard to tolerate the weight of things I no longer have to do.
You're always waiting for me in the other room;
and it isn't just a matter of throwing out your unused food.
It's also about walking past the spot
where I used to have to stop to stroke your face.
You just don't need that anymore;
and it wouldn't be so damnable
except that I still do.

March 27 2011

She's Been Throwing Snow

She's been throwing snow at us
all day long. It's the kind of behavior you'd expect
from an infant season, and speaking as a parent, really,
there isn't a lot you can do; it's hardwired at this point:
Newborn, she has no settled paths; they
just aren't there yet. This is an exercise in patience;
clean up the mess and don't be angry:
Soon enough you'll be wishing she
hadn't grown up quite so fast and moved away.

March 21 2011

You're Everywhere These Days

You're everywhere these days. I can't
turn the TV on without seeing your face,
or being reminded of your spectacular life as a dog.
How did you get into the sky?
The next time I go into the yard
I expect I will see you there,
looking out at me from under last year's leaves.

Last night, I dreamed I saw you charging around the yard
like a mad dog. The way you planted your feet 
like a bull, then ran, tongue out, ears wild,
like fourteen years ago; it was so good at the end
to see you clear the fence with ease. In my dream
I figured out how to get you back, but you were so
scratched up, I think now the best thing would have been,
and yes, still is, just to let you keep on running away
until you can't see me and I can't see you anymore.

March 18 2011

I Felt the Palest Yellow Glow

I felt the palest yellow glow
come in at evening when the sun pried off
the cloud lid from the sky
with its final exhalation
and while it lightened me
I also feared a change had come to you
silent
while I cleaned the dishes in the kitchen.
That is why I came to look at you
no food in my hands, 
just to see your liquid eyes
look back at me
again 
again 
again.

March 11 2011

Today My Wish for You

Today my wish for you is that
a warmer time will see you end.
Not in cold despair, but in a comforting sun
would I see you lie down at last,
feeling heat release the grasp of pain upon your bones
and small breeze stir your greying fur
and sleep, a friend, 
nuzzle close, sniff you softly,
and curl around you with a familiar dream
of open air, your owners,
and the happiness of the endless chase.

March 3 2011