My puppy suddenly yanks on the leash,
which is annoying and against her training.
It’s dark-thirty in the morning and raining.
In the woods ahead, I spot a white flash
of the deer tail which had arrested
Ramona’s attention. We resume our walk,
her nose to the ground, my thoughts
somewhere else. How little I am present.
Whatever sniff or glimpse of truth
I perceive, is through a glass, darkly,
as before sunrise when all is quiet,
the way ahead lit only by the moon.
I call her name and Ramona obeys;
may my mind be here to know the way.