Kathy died on Wednesday,
Nancy on Saturday.
One from broken nerves,
the other a broken heart.
Still this morning the dog came in the dark
rubbed her silky head against my hand
stretched outside the quilt
Looked down at my waking face
and yawned with her wide dog’s mouth
assured of constancy and love.
I dreamed of Nancy and the botany of mushrooms,
how she knelt by a patch of inky caps glowing silver
while opposite her a turtle carried a bowl
of my mother’s chicken noodle soup on its back.
I woke in the cold morning of the dry Taos plateau
and wondered -
Will it snow today?