One Deer

My friend is gone,

Having slipped from this world,

Crossed over,

Gone home.

Everyone says death

In a way

That makes it about life.

Not an end

But a passing.

I think about this

As I try to fall asleep

With my daughter, exhausted by grief,

Lying beside me.

Lying awake,

I hear Dylan Thomas

Telling me in that pristine recording

After the first death

There is no other.

There is not.

Death is a lesson

In defining absence

And redefining presence.

I wonder about this

As I walk my dogs in the rain

And the damp air

Combines with the bark

Of a white oak,

Straight, tall, strong,

And claims a universe of space

Full of safety, shade, and squirrels in summer

And full of  promise now.

Moisture and the oak

And the fallen white sky

Take the shape of a young deer

That steps softly before my dogs

Onto our path.

Here I am.

The dogs watch.

I watch.

The deer steps forward

Into the rain

Steps forward again

Steps forward and returns to the woods.

The dogs watch.

This is not a sign.

This is not my friend

Who is dead.

This is life

In the silence of the woods.

The dogs know it

And I am learning.