Dog Years

Instead of scattering your ashes, let’s go

for another walk, across those swaying

fields you’ll sprint half the length of, sun low

as I dawdle your lead, watch you weaving

free through waist-high grasses, time blurring

as wind whittles away at gritstone edge.

You’ll sniff your way up the scree, village blinking

below like so much loose change, the ledge

gifting a perspective that the hardedge

look of things might resolve to melt away,

your single bark now echoing a pledge

to live, as dogs will, in this moment, this day.

So much for memory. Below this ancient shelf

you’re still running, still scattering yourself.