Dreaming of a dead friend
Dark as every day is dark in sleep,
beneath dark trees that cast their shadows deep,
we walked my dog and I.
He walked before with loose long-legged lope,
I behind, the path that climbed a wooded slope,
a tumbling brook ran by.
His coat with shadows striped and moonlight pale
grew fainter, as he moved along the trail,
so fast he seemed to fly.
The winding path, the crouching trees, the light
too dim, I lost him to the swelling night
and woke, a final cry,
the echo of his name still in my ears,
the echo of a dream. I hope he hears
and waits my time to die.