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.