White dog

Do they speak in the gaze of a loyal white dog patiently waiting for someone to join him?

White dog

By the front door a white dog waits patient
head rising up with each ghost of a smell,
tail wagging slowly each time that it opens.
Where is his master to take him away?

Where are the ghosts to show us the way?
Take us through shadows, past sorrows, past mourning
promising us that this pain too shall pass,
as our cries and our life seep sadly unnoticed.

Where do ghosts hide and when do they visit
revision our memories, restore visions of futures?
Can they suture these wounds, that gush and then fester,
clean them, remove the ghosts of these scars?

Have hosts of our forefathers guided thus far?
Do they speak in the gaze of a loyal white dog
patiently waiting in front of some door,
patiently waiting for someone to join him?

© 2008 Kåre Enga [165.331] 2008-11-08

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Note: I thought of the line "where are the ghosts" and went from there. I had noticed a friendly white dog sitting in front of The Break looking in. His master was inside with coffee, I assumed. So, he got woven in at the end and then while I was editing, I put him at the beginning as well. Original in "White dog"