The dogs want out, so we unlatch the door
and they lurch down the steps,
two roan bodies pressed together,
their shoulders heaving,
the fur parting and re-parting with each step.
They turn and smile back at us
before plunging into the cold lake,
grizzled chins raised against the wash of time.
About the Poet
Joan E. Cashin writes from the Midwest, and she has published in many literary journals.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.