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Dead Dogs


Where are they now?
I would say that
dead they are more alive
than they were in life.

In life they were as close
as my shadow, as attached,
as taken for granted,
loping a little ahead or behind.

They became what
they longed for:
bones. I see them now,
Nova and Zia and Red.

Where did that moment go
when, noticing them,
I knelt down and, shivering
with a love for what they were

just a symbol of, embraced
them wildly, their eyes
rolling whitely
over my shoulder

in the ecstasy of being
so suddenly regarded?
This poem seems proof
that that moment sank

into me, leaving them
in the fast-fading afterglow
of knowing themselves
beloved of boys.

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