Dog Walking

Pond mist hits our faces
Sadie's narrow frame
remains all pomp
some circumstance;
Sparrow pulls to burst
wild and frothy like things
that never return.

I feel layers of her -
my grandmother,
in me,
in our home,
in Abby's room
to help her through
nightmares, bellyaches,
killer whales that live
in her open closet.

Her smell is here
and to have it back
is impossible but real.

We grow together
even when our skin
can't touch
It's what gives
me faith to trust
in magic.


The magic that keeps us searching.

The mystery of dogs
knowing what you mean
only through your eyes.

Dreams of people (gone?)
somewhere busier
than earth with more
important tasks at hand
than making dinner.

I watch my canine girls
wake up
Louisiana grass,
dig at
delicious mailboxes,
sniff around
risky gray anthills
with wet noses and standing ears.

They check in with each other
Then me
To show off
how many things
they've figured out.

Did I get it all, too?

Another layer for us to chew on
for a while.