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THE LAST REMAINS REMAIN
We'll scatter ashes in the dark
near the pond in Olmsted Park
'midst his favorite brush and wood
where he'd try to hide when he could,
his pitch-black coat fooling my eye
despite the white paws, so my sigh
soon mounted to a cry of alarm,
him listening with unflappable calm,
having silently circled to my rear,
watching with more surprise than fear
how human beings get all riled up
thinking they've lost their well-loved pup,
who just needed to take a stroll
(as if that weren't his right or role).
I'll walk by those woods
searching for him,
recalling that game of hiding-go-seek,
and how much he liked to disappear,
much like some supernatural seer,
but all the time staying right there,
like a shadow, like love,
like spring in the air.
For our beloved dog Mitchell
September 14, 2006