The Hour of the Dead in the manner of
“This Hour and What Is Dead” By Li-Young Li
Tonight my dog, with heavy paws, is walking
Through bare rooms over my head,
Opening and closing doors.
What could he be looking for in an empty house?
What could he possibly need there in heaven?
Does he remember his time on earth?
His role in life being replaced?
His love for me feels like a heavy anchor
Dragging me back to his soft earthly grave.
At this hour, the dead will walk among us
Restless and afraid of what is living.
Someone should tell him he should sleep now.
My mother keeps a picture of him by her bed
And resides there in our memories
As his body lays back there in our backyard
For four and a half months at a time
His love for me feels like warm hug
After a long day of work and toil:
Various instances come to mind,
For all the ways we could have saved him
His body cleaned out with each stroke of the vets hands.
At this hour, what is dead will come alive
And what is living will have to pay the price for it.
Someone tell him he should sleep now.
Oh God, that old dog, still keeps barking
With his mouth wide open,
With a grizzly face stained at first glance,
And his breath smells of pig ears and doggy kibble
Mixed with a hint of burned ash.
His love for me feels like fire,
That feels hot to the touch, but feels warm at a distance.
At this hour, the dead are helpless,
Alone and afraid. While the world moves on without them.
Someone should tell the him to leave me alone.
I've had enough of his love that feels like his burning light is fading away.