shutting down
time to walk in the snow
make footprints where there are none
only the crooked marks of the dogs
mooch or joe the best of dogs
it is good coming down this slope
the dogs have been buried
how long now
oh these many years
today the leafless trees
gleam in the morning sun
with crowns of beaten gold
it is not surprising
the prints should appear this morning
old mooch and faithful joe
you have my meaning
where there is no coherence
just what is good to remember
or to forget
it is like this
you go alone in the morning
your thoughts running on and on
until they come wagging home