like split earth. Then
the condo is rubble,
and you are gone.

He loves burying
Hope’s bone.
You don’t know

when it will happen.
It happened,
and you didn’t think it would.

You wake up and find
your dog’s body
in the corner of the yard.

He’s standing on your porch
at 3 am in his stiff
uniform and pleated slacks.

He’s in the watchtower. He
might be looking at you.
He might not be.

You stare into the cosmic
horror. You drink an entire pot
of decaf coffee. You paint a flower

with a spatula. You dig a hole
in the yard for the dog’s ashes
and say, “I feel better now.”