Wait in lack of luscious gravestones,
take step, quarter measure, hack with saw horn.
Tally we three through the thorning way,
down claystone creeks slide we slippery steep.
Chirp birds, just peep, lay nests fantastic.
Found drowsy drawn with flower mist and raccoon grass sides,
return to sender down
abandon light to forward fresh pits.
Six feet of air.
Bereave Not Until Last Bark
Waiting for dogs to rush at me
As I step inside this home.
No whimper, no growl, no dogs,
but the smell of them.
My sneakers remain unsaturate
by the saliva from their playful jowls.
Old woman preparing our meal
barking at me to sit, I do.
Suspended in me to ask of puppies,
I question health instead, and weather.
She snaps at me with no joy,
her voice sunk, her head low
saying, "Sit, finish your meal."
