 |
| on a western slope |
Pup, Ben, Clyde, Bonnie, Murphy,
Henry, Thurber, Alaster, Blue,
and Holly, all under the apple tree.
How many good dogs can we know
in a lifetime ? How many close friends ?
How many kin?
How often our gazes met
while they lived, and still
eye-to-eye in the usual places.
Now another invisible watcher
ahead of me at a fork in the path,
awaiting a sign.
After fifty years on the same hillside,
spirits have gathered,
the dogs among them,
But I am the one awaiting a sign,
under the apple tree,
following them into the evening.
