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"nipping at your ghost"

A small dog waits

beside the brass horn,

ears lifted, body held

in that soft readiness

only devotion can teach.

Once a wanderer,

he learned the shape of shelter

in the warmth of a single voice.

Now the room is quiet,

yet he leans

toward the horn’s bright mouth

as though a familiar breath

might rise again

from its painted metal.

The artist tries again,

brush steady, colours deepening,

and the dog stays steady too—

a guardian of what once was spoken,

listening for whatever might return.

In this posture of trust,

there is a kind of light:

not memory,

not longing,

but the simple courage

to stay near the place

where love was last heard.