The boy hunted with his faithful dog.
They sought spaces beyond the jungle
stamped new trails
swam in forest ponds
chased birds across flowering pastures
winked at death.
Why should I be afraid, the boy asked.
Alive, we think about the time
when we are no more
when the roses have been replaced by silk
when the earth has lost its fragrance
when the shadow has fallen.
We are the walking dead.
He played with guns
and he died of a gunshot.
At the funeral his mother consoled
the mourners on their own losses.
The dog searched for the boy everywhere
and with each new day he became weaker.
His life ebbed out
with the eleventh moon.
The mother took the body at night
to the cemetery
and buried it
next to the boy.
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