Instead of scattering your ashes, let’s go
for another walk, across those swaying
fields you’ll sprint half the length of, sun low
as I dawdle your lead, watch you weaving
free through waist-high grasses, time blurring
as wind whittles away at gritstone edge.
You’ll sniff your way up the scree, village blinking
below like so much loose change, the ledge
gifting a perspective that the hardedge
look of things might resolve to melt away,
your single bark now echoing a pledge
to live, as dogs will, in this moment, this day.
So much for memory. Below this ancient shelf
you’re still running, still scattering yourself.
