The First To Leave
He was the first to be lifted
From a litter of four
His brothers slept as we opened the door
Into the icy bright winter day
Wrapped tightly in my arms.
He cried until he fell asleep.
The rhythm of the road,
The rhythm of his heart
fused as he dosed;
paws folded in,
ears lying flat.
At night, looking out windows,
he sees his face in each frame.
He thinks he sees his brothers,
His father or mother looking back at him.
He doesn't know
They all looked the same.
Like Heathcliff, gazing over the Moors,
He hears his name
From the other side of the pane.
And he is a puppy
Once again.
He barks in frustration
And in shame, calling for all
We shall never regain.
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