The Mayor of Dogtown

The mayor of Dogtown died last night,
breaking the whole city’s
he art.

The morning is still, and the trees lean in,
listening for steps that will not come.
How will they know he’s gone,
these creatures of the faithful now?

Their eyes trace an empty park bench,
as if waiting for an answer
only we will hear—
we, in the fold of yesterdays,
bound to all that is passing.

They race onward, unbroken and becoming,
carrying something of him in the scuff of leaves,
their joyful, endless present—
while we hold to the stillness,
to the memory,
of a smile echoing across a field.