I’m old enough now to see

how I’ve lived my life in dogs,

each a sun-warmed stone

in this stream of loneliness.

by these have I kept my feet dry,

have I so far made it across.

I look into the brown eyes

of my young black dog,

and can’t help but do the math.

My heart breaks in the knowing

of that distant day when he tells me —

it is time. When do we begin

to die? not at birth, surely,

there’s such a rush to life

for so long, but it slows somewhere,

somehow deep inside of itself

it starts to slow, until one day

as we sit together talking,

this slowing shows itself

in our faces, in our eyes, in our first

clear diminishing, and then we know,

yes we know. We’ve had a week now

of cold nights and windy mornings

the clouds dropping down, scraping

the tops of the aspens, stripping them

of leaves. Snow will come soon

to these mountains, but for today,

I still have this chair by the stream,

still the sounds of the stream over stones,

still a black dog warming his bones

in the late day sun. for today,

this is sufficient. for today this

is wealth enough for a life.




4 thoughts on “stones

  1. And the stream shifts when those brown eyes are those of a young son telling me it is his time. The heart is carried downstream in a thousand ripples. Steps hug the wet stones seeking deeper pools. Sometimes I see him clearly and we briefly are one in the crossing, and the seasons disappear, and this is wealth enough for a life.

  2. Beautiful

    …. Our fist clear diminishing… Yes, the coming pain of losing our four legged companions The celebration we are not on annual cycles or only dog-spans… But the diminishing… And then the Fall days we can cherish

    Thank you.

    Sent by mobile

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