Slowly Fading, not Gone

A hunting dog-

through woods

black and speck white

images

many pieces

of dirt

run rampant through the screen.

The film is-

running

cackling

stammering

It is now over.

I am a film

lapping.

He-s a film

happening.

He-s been a character

in film

playing through futility

and laughing. His-

joy, His smile-

He loved us. His film-

reached it's climax. He-s seen resolutions-

endless. He has sniffed out-

many small animals 

in tree

tops.

and now

Like a tower

Or oaken green crown

He will not shiver

from a great force

instead

his reel sputters

and quits...

 

This poem is about: 
My family

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