All The Way Home

(an excerpt)

. . .

They say the world is won by those

who let go.

But this holding, this strain, this

pulling up and up on the animal I love

is my letting go.

It says, or I hope it does,

I know and I am not afraid. I will not leave you

alone in your leaving.

For seven years, my dog followed me.

And now I follow him. And in following him,

my straight paths have bent and bowed;

every trail has wound into a

labyrinth of scent and wonder. 

When I grow impatient or scared, and

what is the difference really,

I wait, wherever we are—even if it’s the middle of a street— 

until love returns,

reanimates my hands.

Because we don’t have much time and

to be carried by 

anything else

would be 

such a shame. 

. . . . TBC