The Churchgoer | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Hudson Valley; Chronogram

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The Churchgoer

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Walking down the road, green leash in hand,

dragging my dead dog.

Once gold, once brown,

only hair and bones now.

Snagged on rocks,

teeth grinding on the sidewalk

blood-dried hair.

He's coming back! He's coming back!

With eyes to the sky.

"He's never coming back."

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