Words&Dirt

To the Gods I don’t believe in
(Which is all of them)
Please hear me now
Listen with your void-rapt ears
And answer me this:
How can a man tell his beloved dog
“The summer of your life is over”?

How can I say it?
Those long, sun-soaked days we thought would never end
Gone, spent, never returning
How can I say
“Not that toy, not right now, not ever again”
How?

What can I say to my still-energetic boy
Who wants nothing more than to run
And jump
And catch
And be his silly self
What can I say to him?

How is it that when I run without him
Unencumbered by belt, leash, and harness
Freed from his natural pace
Which is so slightly slower than mine
How is it that my feet are like lead
Slapping pavement
Why is this new lightness so unbearably heavy?

Oh, Gods I don’t believe in
(Which is all of them)
Yahweh, did you feel this watching your only Son nailed to the cross?
Zeus, did you feel this watching Sarpedon drop beneath the walls of Troy?
Surya, did you feel this watching Karna give his armor away?
Odin, did you feel this watching Baldr fall as mistletoe found his one soft place?

Oh, Gods I don’t believe in
(Which is all of them)
I hear your broken, cosmos-thick chorus bark:
Histrionic, much?
Sure, I shrug, but that is how it feels
Surely, as I am made in your image, you must know how it feels?