Saturday, November 24, 2012


Jib here.

Mom wrote another poem for Sailor. She is still sad, but I am helping her be not so sad.

She says, "Zorba danced. I write."


Only his shadow remains.
The shadow of a bark
Echoing in my ear
As the sun reaches toward twilight;
The shadow of a breeze
Swirling in my hand,
 Cold nose on a warm day;
The shadow of the grass
Rippling across the field
As my ghost dog runs by.
The splash in the water bowl,
The click of toenails,
The scent of wet fur -
Mere shadows all
But here,
 Never gone.

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