Imagine the way
The dog darkened
Slipping beneath the static
Of night-time wood.
Oxleas Wood, past-nine,
Fuzz-flooded. Formless,
But suggestively grey.
Imagine
Arriving home, my sister (visiting)
Stoking a voice on speakerphone.
‘I saw your dog… Mistaken… Sure.
Moonlight swept the hall…
Soaked the rug.’
