So much gets lost
down the labyrinthine
corridors of my mind:
not just the great ideas
I can’t keep pace with,
nor the facts and details
distinguishing the writing
on one wall from another,
but the hoof and paw,
the hand and footprint
of lives that once ran
shoulder to shoulder
with mine.

It takes the opening
of dark cupboards,
the revelation of the shelved
shirts and sweaters,
the white wool shawl,
the tennis ball sitting
in the big red bowl and the
pink blanket still threaded
with short black hairs,
to bring the lost ones back
into my hands again,
to wring from them
the fibre and scent
of loveworn years.

Another poem from my first chapbook “Stealing Eternity”. Those were my two beloved dogs – Spats and Brandy – never without a tennis ball!