In the Dark
I catch a glimpse, then lose it –
green wand floating
dog-level
through the black woods:
Cyalume light-stick attached
to her collar.
November. No sound.
Leaf-fall absorbs my boot-step,
leaves no print. Smell
of forest in late autumn decay.
What scents
does my dog snatch from the air?
Stop. Call the lost boy’s name
again. Listen past
midnight.
Flashlight; map; compass bearing.
My dog breaking through
the dark.
~ Taylor Graham
from What the Wind Says (www. lummoxpress.com)