Remembering You

All these dogs still alive in the world, still the runnings and jumpings and snarfing downs of dinners and you’re not one of them. Joy is unbeautiful beauty, joy is a paradox. The sorrow of what has happened, and the sorrow of my sight of it, so the delight of my memory of it, so the being of it. You were really on my chest We really grew up beside each other And Damn. Im alive. things are serious and possible and with consequence and poetry and fur and skin