The Mound at my Backyard


The legacy
you pass down
to your son, sits
at your backyard
showering flowers
on to a pit

Golden white fur
breathless, still
lovable
sleeps, over ants
mud, dry leaves
and tears

He sits lost, recollecting
the pet names, the cuddles,
the warmth
that spread through his feet

And I, stare through
the million mounds
over my senses

The barren cemetery
Lit by my solo cigars

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