Circle of Day, Circle of Night

Blonde

She went out easy.
With previous dogs, there came
a moment of spiritual shudder,
sometimes a visible struggle.
Not here. By my side
under my touch I feel the chest
rise, fall, rise, fall. And rise no more.
Without a sound the heart rests.
Life departs. A border crossed,
as if she welcomed the end
of cancer's grip.

I tuck dog legs against dog body.
They are immediately
different, dead weight
utterly unlike a living limb.
Her eyes remain half open
as she so often slept.
She seems half-alert in death.
Still she is warm and has
that marvelous Dakota fur,
the only blonde
I've ever loved.

First published in Red Eft Review