Joan calls for her who died two days ago.
However foregone & down the dim driveway
of dementia she’s gone, however the glow
of senile hope that lights her putzing way——
——Whatever I say can barely be a song.
That I maybe said hello, so much as waved
on mornings when she’s in my way——the thing
is, when no one’s home, there’s someone to be saved.
And however goes her dream, we watch her
walk it through, unleashed in love to the laws
of memory: down Windfall, down Lander,
‘til the crows concur it’s evening with their caws.
That godforsaken dog was life and line.
Her grief is real. I know it just as mine.