August 13/365 March 20, 2015

The Spring will not come
Early enough. Snow
Bands stretch from Erie
Down to Maryland.
Again the old dog
Watches the world erased.
His eyes clouded, blinking,
He faces into the woods.
Taking a long slow
Breath and then shaking
Ears hard against his head.
One step slides over
Frozen bricks. His paws
Break the insulation
Snow gives us, the deep
Quiet white. He leaves
A trail for me – here,
He says, I’ve gone here.

The Spring will not come
Early enough. Geese
Riding storm winds cry,
A winged wolf pack
Hidden from our eyes.
The old dog looks up.
That he can hear this
Astounds even him.
We stand like two fools
In snow falling ever
Softer, colder down.
I do not know what
He thinks of this last
Snow, does he sense like
Me the shuttering
And the dimming light?
Or only the joyful
Cries, the wild music,
And Spring in the wings?


Apologies for another sad dog poem. This I’ve pulled out from three years ago, when winter overstayed her welcome, and my dearest dog was getting ready to leave me behind. I promise to try to keep sad dog poems at bay, perhaps replace them with happy cat poems, for the duration of the month!


5 thoughts on “August 13/365 March 20, 2015

  1. The “… last snow …” got me.
    And I’ve never been in snow like this, so the whole thing – even without the dog, who is of course the star – is magical.


  2. This is so beautiful, and made me think of that sometimes complete feeling of stillness snow brings. And I hope your dearest dog was sensing the joyful cries, the wild music, the spring in the wings.


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