It was sunny the day we buried you,
and then it rained for a week,
the skies paying soggy tribute,
to your passing.
A soft, somber deluge,
pounding wet earth,
into the spaces between your bones.

The topography of your,
erstwhile romping ground,
dissolved into wetlands,
puddles deepening into a chain,
of small ponds you could sail
paper ships upon.
I'd launch a fleet in your honor,
If I thought you were still
near enough to notice,
and give them chase.

Give them chase...

They say all dogs go to heaven.
If there were ever a version
of that ideology I could reconcile,
it would be the one where you are
blissfully chasing bicycles
through the clouds.
No soul has better met those lofty criteria....

We buried you with Peanut,
headless and limbless though he was.
We buried you with one of James's bath toys,
the one that you always stole,
and hid in your bed.
We buried you in the sunshine,
where you can bask and watch the kids play,
where you can fortify the soil,
And become a garden.
A lively butterfly garden,
No squirrels allowed.