By Liz Kendall
Death bringer and tender guide
to the path beneath the mountains,
the shadow land,
through which we fear to walk alone,
angle thy sharp-pointed ears towards my words.
One by one we slip our collars and follow you.
No guide but your forward-pointing face and upright tail,
your paw prints in the sand below.
O glossy darkness.
O eternal hound.
Bay me and breathe me through the twilight
and deeper into shade.
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