Great Empty

we’ve been speaking with the
dead, inquiring after their

we’ve been talking about all
the lost things we’ve
known. the escaped
critters and the
squeaky toys.

the tennis ball under the couch.
the rawhide, now only a fart.

the temporary joys.
the fugitive odors.

we will miss the winter
trees and how they let
you see around and

the way they provide context
and light for the mourning sky
and for the greening

it was impossible to see this
clearly when they were
strong. it was
to acknowledge this
great empty when they were full.

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