Jess (Poetry)

She makes the most of a suburban lawn —
frisking playful — rounds her human flock —
yaps excited — crouches — lunges — nips
at trouser bottoms — finds the wool-mix sock.

On walks the race is on to sniff out strays —
imaginary lambs her nature seeks —
with one eye on the hawk that circles high
and one ear cocked to catch bewildered bleats.

A one-dog hurricane in muscled fur —
she leaps the gate in welcome — tail a whip
against her master’s leg — his voice the one
that bids her quieten — holds her in its grip.

He is the one she follows — still alert
to every gesture — eager to obey
though both are gone — lost somewhere in the fields —
she’s clear in black and white — he fades to grey.