When the rabbits appeared in the tapestry,
I knew he had come to visit.
I tore their prints and patched them
Ode to honoring love lost.
Before he died he chased a jackrabbit.
Not one ounce of care in the world,
only concern for sinking his teeth into fresh fur,
for running away from me and into the woods.
That wild son.
Since he died, I haven’t gone to the woods.
Maybe I’d find him there
with a collection of fur from small animals
and his sweet canine soul living amongst the blue, soft soil.
My love for him a constant wind, keeping him warm at night.