Planted a sandy pile
far back past the swing-set
in full sun over top
that dead dog buried there.
And as worms ribbon in
the bones of my good friend
I see him leaping from
the grave full of flavor,
those throbbing red drupelets
shimmering in the breeze
like loyal palpitations
and love from the other side.
And every small seed slurps
the juice of creatures smashed
down into souls all mixed up
and siphoned out pure.
But this is pup-pup Bruce
in the holy loam still
fetching to bark it hard
in the pop of good fruit.
Who knew full eulogies
were inside of blueberries?
Photo by Kirstin Vander Giessen-Reitsma
