Bright Path
The park is broad, a swath of land
with crisp playing fields and verdant hillsides,
and tortuous paths, and split through the middle,
a spine of water, and we walked those paths
and sat by the waterside, and angled our sight
through the trees to glimpse the skulling youth slice
through the cool water in iridescent hulls,
and then we would up and run, his pink tongue flopping joyously,
the sleek ebon coat a marvel day after day, until he sickened,
and he waited patiently, before carried to riverside berth
to laze before the golden marsh grasses and follow
the osprey’s search until the day cooled and there was
a whimper, a huff before graying paws were lifted from earth,
chin nuzzled in appreciation, until I walked that stone path alone,
as I do now, as I have done for years,
and each day I wait for the blue jays and the robins to quiet,
and the morning breeze to calm to hear the sounds of jostling stones,
old paw steps in tow, and I smile at the path that is bright again
for I know he does not want me to walk alone.
