“It is summer.
How many summers does a little dog have?”
— Mary Oliver

Some nights it seems like a century,
sometimes it feels like yesterday
that I watched the cross of death
shadow your face and fix
your soft brown eyes with night.

Sometimes memory is the patch
of dry ground between cacti,
at times it stands and sings
like bands of light within a wave
and crests when I say
your little name aloud.

You were Brookie and I will not
forget you, my friend who saw
the better heart of me
and taught me simply joy. 

J. Kyle Kimberlin
July 2025
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