Blackie

Yesterday
it caught me unawares
on the train
that thing in the nose
just short of pain –
no great hound would be there
to welcome us home

Oh Blackie – how long
will I miss to the point of tears
the nuzzling great head
with its smooth velvet ears

Nothing out the window –
no part of sunset view –
no word in a magazine or book
to make me think of you
just the idea, maybe
of homecoming
and how, for me, those
three syllables camouflage

a wagging tail, a cold wet nose

.

.

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