Scent

The dog walks at my calf, soft mouthed,

Completely empty of thought beyond

Pleasing me.

The earth steams,

Heated from the sun reclining on the horizon.

It is red like the corpse of a smashed fox

glimpsed upon the tarmac.

green verge,

grey road,

bright bloody fox

combined together

(though red is the colour

the retina is stained with,

and the mind will be able to recall it,

at moments like these,

when trying to describe the colour

of the morning sun.)

Wet legged from long grass,

naked beneath puritan, white nightdress.

Bare feet, boots pushed on in haste to walk

this eager dog.

Canine nose detecting everything.

The rabbit that fled from our footfalls,

The birds and mice that worried the stems

for seeds last night.

Ghosts of ourselves

walking yesterday and days before.

The dog knows my identity; female,

Pack leader, in season again.

The moon waned,

as the scent of pregnancy faded.

Comfort in the dogs blank loyalty;

The knowledge that at least there was one

other witness to a brief life.