because it was the way we wanted him to go

in my dream this morning
when you were more awake than me
you heard me making noises
trying to stop something from happening

we had been walking with mingus

on some rural gravel road

when he saw a rabbit in the distance

that needed chasing

we watched him running at top speed

body leaving mind behind

jumping over a dry creek bed

and off through the trees

as i started to move after him

shouting his name

you tightened your grip on my hand

tightened your arm to keep me with you

and i relaxed by your side

both of us silent and unmoving

looking at the point in the distance

where he disappeared.

pack rules

it was you
who taught us the importance
of keeping the pack together

you who would wait at the front windows
when it was time for us to get home from work
you who would leave me once i was settled
to go wait at the window again
for melissa to arrive

when your senses
started to fail you
you would leave the room
with both of us in it
to go look for us
in all of the other rooms of the house
sometimes camping out
outside the master bathroom
if the door was closed
thinking melissa was still in there
and waiting patiently
until we realized where you had gone
and got up to find you
and bring you back

and now that you are gone
somehow all your searching for us
in those last few weeks
when we were right there
makes a perfect inverted sense
as we continue to look for you

expecting you to come running up to us
as we open the door into the house from the garage

turning around in the kitchen
holding out an almost empty casserole dish
that needs your attention

and waiting to hear the click of your toenails
coming down the hallway
every night
as we get ready for bed.

the kind of dog

we always joked about
how you were not the kind of dog
to run away

you were the kind of dog
who if you escaped from the house
without us noticing
would never leave our unfenced yard
and would be back at the door minutes later
scratching on it to be let back in

as you got older
we talked about how some dogs
know they are dying
and if given the chance
will walk out into the woods
and simply lie down forever

we didn't think you had
that kind of instict
but the last day before you died

you went out your dog door
to an area of the back yard
i had finally fenced in with chicken wire
a few weeks earlier
and when you didn't come back in
after fifteen minutes
melissa went out to check on you
and you were lying down in the grass
at the far edge of the fence
completely asleep

when she told me
she had found you there
like that
i imagined if the fence hadn't been there
you wouldn't have either.

in case i needed to explain this

in your last year
that we did not know would be your last
only knowing that you were officially old
we would set aside a day every month or so
and that day was simply for you
it was a day of giving you
whatever it was you wanted

those days were filled with dentabone treats
the pack taking long walks outside
shorter and shorter sessions of fetch in the backyard
letting you outside as many times as you wanted
and sitting on the back porch
watching you take your nose on tour
around the perimeter of our yard
and on the colder days
hours of napping on the couch
nestled between melissa's legs
and covered by her pink snuggie
as she studied

after your seizures started
and the cancer diagnosis was confirmed
every day became one of those days
every sunday morning we put
boneless skinless chicken breasts
into the crockpot along with
whatever vegetables we thought
we could trick you into eating

and melissa
who you had taken such good care of
never straying from her side
over the many months of her sicknesses
returned your favors so elegantly
packaging you on the couch
with a turquiose colored pillow
under your chin
and a blanket draped just so
across your body
always knowing
if you wanted your head covered or not

as your coordination faded further
and after you fell off the couch
and onto your back without a sound of complaint
you were wary of the altitude
keeping instead to your bed on the floor
and melissa would get up to rearrange your bed
and re-blanketize you
more times than anyone could imagine

in the last few weeks
these days of giving you
whatever it was you wanted
became harder and harder for her to take
and not because she saw so clearly
the increasing slope of your decline
not because you would get up from your bed
every five minutes
dig at the covers
look at her and whine
not because she had to get up
and help you get settled again

not because you needed so much

what tore at her the hardest
was simply that she couldn't figure out
what it was you wanted

what hurt her the most
was not being able to help you.

requiem for mingus the whippet

the afternoon
after putting our whippet down
after 14 years together
after a short escape to the coffee shop
you were in your car
still in out driveway
performing some necessary email
or message on your smartphone
after dropping me off
about to head out on
just a couple of more errands
on our official day off work
day of mourning

when i saw you still there
i called you
and told you to come inside
and make love to me

because i learned from mingus
how to ask for what i want
and how to be a better animal.

how it always ends

this is how it ends
how it always ends
my hands on your hipbones
your hands outstretched into the air

the first part of the dance is spectacular
and the middle part is sublime
and each is different every time
i mean
i am sure they are
but for the life of me
i can't remember any part of them

the only part that is left
beaming through my memory
is what happens
in the last few notes
as you can tell the song
is winding down
and there has to be an ending

the lights fade out on me
and the only illumination
is one sharp edged spotlight
surrounding you
as you move slowly
towards the front
of the stage

then you start to move faster
running like you have no idea
the floor beneath your feet
is about to run out

and just as you reach a point
a few feet from the edge
you leap into the air
stretched out into a perfect swan dive
and as you reach the highest point
on the very last note

the point
just before you would naturally
begin to descend
you feel my hands on your hipbones
and you know then
once again
i was moving along with you
every single step of the way

you know then
the echo of your footfall
was mine

you feel my hands on your hipbones
supporting you from underneath
lifting you along the same arc you started
but higher
until you are suspended
directly over my head
the spotlight streaming into your eyes
the last note fading into the distance
your arms spread as wide as your smile

a smile born of knowing
this is how it ends
how it always ends
knowing every time you leap
into the bright darkness
i am there to lift you higher.

"i will die soon, but i am comfortable"

- mike everett

dear uncle mike,

my mom told me

about how you loved to sneak

out of the house
when you were young
dressed only in your indian loincloth

and looking for adventure

and now, soon

i imagine you will find yourself again

in your young lithe little body
slipping through your bedroom window

of your parent's house

landing lightly in the grass
and running off silently

into the cool night air.

depth of field

i think of my father
when i look at any picture
and notice where the photographer
chose to allow the details through
if the focus was close
and the background details
are blurred away
when i look to see where the choice was made
what details to show
or if the artist must have used a tripod
to use a long enough exposure
to get everything
at every distance
as sharp as mechanically possible

i think of my father
when i tighten screws
on the switchplates in my house
and how he told me
so many years ago
that lining up the slots in those screws
was the mark of a true craftsman
the go/no go gauge of quality

i think of my father
at family dinners
as we talk after the meal
and how he lines up his placemat
his napkin
his water glass
making parallel lines
and equidistant arrangements
as we speak
and i know it takes no thought
it is absolutely no distraction
from our words
it is simply the gestures
of a patient zen master engineer
practicing a slide rule
kind of mindfulness
making everything right
with this small world set in front of him

i think of my father
every time i feel a torque wrench
click in my hands
partly because he gave me my first one
a long beam type for use on
my motorcycle rear wheel axle castle nut
and actually my last one too
a tiny quarter inch drive
for setting allen screws
on carbon fiber bicycle parts
but also because that click says to me
the same thing it has always said to him
this thing
this one small thing is perfect

but then
to balance it all out
and to develop the clearest
highest quality
most detailed image of my father
i think about how he is also
so strongly moved
by the human grace of the arc
of a perfect hook shot
in a washington university
lady bears basketball game

i think about sitting behind him
at my cousin's wedding
three summers ago in montana
i think about how he watched his brother jim
set his walker to the side
so he could walk his daughter down the short grassy aisle
and how jim made it halfway to the minister
with julie on his arm
before my father had to take off his glasses
to wipe the tears from his eyes
those tears
traveling such perfect
non linear
non parallel
misaligned tracks
as they flowed down
through the features of his face.

a single word

this isn't a poem
about going to the vet
and finding out
that our whippet
has leukemia
and only a few months
left to live

it is about
how on the way home
in the backseat of our car
he moved from one window
to the other
tasting the air on each side

it is about how he stood
with his front paws
on the armrest
between the front seats
panting and smiling
as if he hadn't understood
a single word
the vet had said.

Mingus monsieur l'artiste a encore frappé

Mingus monsieur l'artiste a encore frappé, en disant: J'ai toujours rêvé d'aller en voyage à jouer dans une fanfare, mais je ne peux pas échapper à cette impression que quelqu'un s'est enfui avec mon tuba ... attendez! ... c'est que mon collier ou un coup de main à mon la gorge?

Translated:
Mr. Mingus artist has struck again, saying: I always dreamed of going on a trip to play in a brass band, but I can not escape the impression that someone has absconded with my tuba...wait!...is that my collar or someone's hand on my throat?

from the grocery store parking lot 5 days before easter

picking out the two-tray package of orange-colored peeps
the small solar-powered mechanical dancing flower
destined for your windowsill at work
and the tiny milk carton of mini whoppers eggs
i found myself once again
on the verge of tears
lost in the small world
of all the small things i can do
to distract you
from everything else
that is not so small
so pretty
so sweet.