There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.
2010 ~ 2017
They gave me your ashes
and I did not understand how this could be
when I had seen your shadow in the morning –
it was you –
you followed me from my room
you, who was always more darkness than light
snipped from the ink of night
but always so warm to the touch –
and now, I recall, that this morning I put out my hand
but you slipped through my fingers and were gone.
The ashes were heavier than I expected
and whatever they are, they are not you.
Izy Gruye encourages us to Write Unseen in The Imaginary Garden this week.