The dogs were here first.
You think you own them, but no–
they lead, you follow.
Other dogs, other
people, entangled within
a rocky landscape.
It’s always winter.
You must work hard, struggle
to get anywhere.
Where is it? You no
longer even think you know–
the pull of the leash.
You’re cold and you need to feel–
breath shortens—leaves misty trail.
Ingrid at dVerse asked us to write a poem inspired by a dream, and Sarah’s W3 prompt asked for a poem of 14 lines or less about dreams.
I remembered these sketches I did of a dog–I think it was from a photo Nina sent me of one of her dogs, but I’m not totally certain–and found them in an old sketchbook from the early 1980s. The collage is from one of Jane’s prompts I did in 2016.
I often dream of dogs–I’ve lived with them, but never owned one. Clearly they have a secure place in my mind.