he appeared one day
four-footed storm cloud
walking up to our deck
like he’d been there all his life
I said hey and
he squinted a smile
rising up to nuzzle my
offer of friendship
he became a fixture
prowler in the gardens
riding shotgun on my shoulder
as he supervised my labors
but his candle was brief
his rumble now silenced
and his spot in the sun
forever empty
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 