Adores Him With Those Liquid Eyes

It clings in his memory like
the fine dog hair he finds
on clothes unused for years
small white strands that are
always there – never too
obvious, never absent,
and he wonders why.

We share a muse, one
who cares for artists he
concludes, the fount of
our daily inspiration – but
consider, perhaps it is a
dog with fine white hair
and not a literary spirit.

Nothing changed with the
observation, the hair still
evident when he wears his
favourite fine wool pullover,
the muse still waits at his side
and the dog who lies at his feet
adores him with those liquid eyes.
© I.D. Carswell 2007-02-06