After Just So Much Silence
After just so much silence
getting back to poetry is like
looking for your dog at the pound.
You’re not sure he was ever there.
You don’t know if after all the time
he’ll want to come with you.
If you threw your coat
on the foot of the bed, he’d sleep there.
He’d wake you with his cold nose.
Sometimes he would run in his sleep
and you would follow him.
You want to remind him of the times
racing over the hogsback,
of the water clear as winter air,
the baying at the moons
in their unaccountable processions.
You can’t stand on the front porch
whistling much longer. If only
he would come to you. If only
he will want you back.