Bemoaning

All the next puppies are going to be
as adorable as the one you lost.
They all are repeats,
even in their own unique ways.

How many more friends should I lose
to realize death is irrelevant?

They all coming back,
at least as others.

Streets are a film rolling with the
cyclical strollers, figurants and shadows
but colours are all relevant
in the tail of a peacock.

Every unique thing is a sinew
of the universal love,
where all the puppy-nesses in all their varieties,
are one,
the one that you lost,

where all me s, and you s
are erased
in love,

unbruised,
in a shared consciousness.