Rescue – by Toby Davidson
ISLAND | ONLINE ONLY
I hang out with what I suppose is your ghost
and call you by only the last of your names,
I in my new place and you in yours.
It’s waggling bliss before recall and what took you
snarl in combined from the teeth of an ocean
too broad to tear around, comical hound.
My ears prick up at your claw-on-lino patter
complete with the crash of a flyscreen door.
Your shape’s reassertions, stir-crazy with breeze,
run with the glossy-coated spirit of play
finding your fur which can’t be contained.
Envious glints at the window pant, paw.
You lick, I lose touch with our stray afternoons,
your mind to return. You’ve come from nowhere before.
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Image: Griffin Wooldridge - Pexels
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