The dead dog snores,
making noise in the world
full of mounds.
I can name two
mounds
belonging to my late friends,
a cat
and a fowl,
whom I feed the sun on the face
I tell a guest at the party,
where little else is eaten.
A man’s world he tells me
with a wink, this entire town
today is the kind of memorial day,
collecting shells, deep
and long from the eyes,
home is closer to sunset,
everybody looks at the foot coming back.