Just a routine
the dogs love to keep,
dragging me down to the
park in the dark,
a team of Belgians
on harness, not leash
At least until
the fleeting fancy strikes:
Perhaps these dogs are
part of my spiritual discipline
(which heaven knows is a bit flabby)
for they beg and whine
wiggle and wag,
yipping excited, hinting demands
until the comfort
of my easy chair,
and the warmth of home
are traded for winter wraps
and the brisk bite
of clear January night.
And lost in meditation,
punctuated by obedience training at crosswalks,
I am startled by the two,
slow-moving silhouettes,
bent in conversation.
At first,
fear for myself,
then,
as the dogs are released,
fear for them
(for the watch in the dog
ticks hearty warning)
Calling and whistling I move away
but not before catching a snippet:
“love…”
“charity…”
spill forth as the two lumber
slowly, one limping, the other matching stride,
up the hill
a pilgrim pair
finally out of reach of streetlamp’s fingers
returning to shadow
leaving only the hum of
interstate traffic
scudding through the
sparkling star light
as punctuation
to my meditation.
Though I walk singly
in meditation
I am never alone.
1/12/89
©1989 Steve Eulberg
