Bazougey

Where goes he now, that dark little dog
    who used to come down the road barking and shining?
He’s gone now, from the world of particulars,
    the singular, the visible.

So, that deepest sting: sorrow. Still,
    is he gone from us entirely, or is he
a part of that other world, everywhere?

Come with me into the woods where spring is
    advancing, as it does, no matter what,
not being singular or particular, but one
    of the forever gifts, and certainly visible.

See how the violets are opening, and the leaves
    unfolding, the streams gleaming and the birds
    singing. What does it make you think of?
His shining curls, his honest eyes, his
    beautiful barking.