The Crossing
Each night I’m surrounded
by ghosts, they cross the river,
with two dogs, one confident
and the brown one, the small
one, needing to try twice.
What if you fall in the river?
The dogs don’t worry.
And that is a relief.
As I’m going home
I could fail at least once.
The other dog, the dark one
will be there, companionable
and keen to get on, but always
coming back, to sniff out
the way, the steps to the river.
This is where you cross.
I will make it one day.
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