We lost old Bill of old age last summer.

first light

I let Diego out at first light,
felt so finite under fading stars,
I heard a distant dog's bark carried
on the breeze
from the village, it
sounded like Bill's bark, a
soulmate I just buried and at that
moment

dawn was a maroon thing of beauty,
the crown of the sun
appeared
hurling sparks,
loss became a river that
flowed away from me
and near the river
a coyote yipped a frenzy
of dawn songs

the wolves of Afghanistan must've heard
and replied:
"here are the ruins of war"

loss is mostly everywhere
but dawn
spills its fiery light misted up
forever young
across all the rivers of earth.