hydrangeas are dead

weeds creep up out of gravel 

my grandfather’s mind

a man and a dog   

warm softness in a blurred world

both barred from our words

the same snaggled teeth

a graying regality

two withering wolves

thinks new dog is B. 

each time we have to tell him

he re-lives B.’s death 

my father cried most

at B.’s makeshift funeral

ashamed I could not

my mom saw B. in

a herd of orbiting deer

will he visit me?

dearest littermate

you came to me in a dream

goodbye my brother

my tree has few roots

–– strong and secure; without B.

deracinated

the christmas puppy:

no space to face the bare space

B.’s shape forgotten