Published: October 10, 2008


by Gary Gannaway

For several weeks after the dog died,
He continued the morning ritual,
Emptying and filling the oversized silver water bowl.

He filled it at the kitchen sink
Where his father would have stood
Had his father not been dead
Much longer than the dog

But before the filling
Came the emptying.
With the precision of a discus throw,
He would send the water out into the early morning air and
Watch the drops hold there
In one pure moment of perfection.

Then all the water would fall to earth,

And he never knew that was perfect too.